


Boil the Frog

by tokenMWM



Series: I See You [2]
Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Developing Relationship, Family Drama, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Stubbornness, Teen Angst, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-11-06 09:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17937101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokenMWM/pseuds/tokenMWM
Summary: Wooing Cyrus Goodman, helping him through his friend problems, and getting the big romantic kiss? Apparently, that was the easy part. I thought it was supposed to be all butterflies and rainbows after that. Y'know. Cause we're gay? Turns out life doesn't stop after the curtains fall, and life is nothing if not dramatic





	1. Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TJ is not a perfect person. You know that. Cyrus knows that. He knows that. But is he a good boyfriend?

My boyfriend is small, and clumsy, and one of the most adorable boys that I have ever seen. Especially when he's sleepy, and he forces his way onto my lap so he can nuzzle into my neck and pass the fuck out. Peak adorable-ness right there, and definitely the cutest way to end a movie night—even if he is surprisingly heavy and inevitably makes my legs go numb. I mean, it's ridiculous how soft and gentle he looks when he's only a few minutes from sleep—his eyelids slowly blinking as he struggles to stay awake, words mumbled and voice fading as I wrap my arms around him. Nights like that, it takes every bit of self-control for me not to pepper his face with kisses and promise I'll protect him from the world.

It is, by far, my favorite version of Cyrus.

Compare that to, say, the version of my boyfriend that cornered me Friday after school with some valid—potentially—questions about a certain girl's locker. The steely stare, the strained voice, the overly aggressive poking of my chest...

Still cute, but definitely not my favorite.

"TJ Kippen. What did you do?"

"You'll have to be more specific, Underdog. No idea what you’re talking about. Did you have a nice day, today?"

This is not the first time I've had this exact question leveled at me over the course of my life. This isn't even the first time it’s come from Cyrus. So I have plenty of experience at neutral responses. I know how to avoid letting too much slip. Of course, the problem with having a relationship last longer than four months is that, eventually, they stop being distracted by your bullshit.

"What did you do to Buffy, TJ? To Buffy!" The shorter boy poked my chest again, standing on his toes to get level with my height. He'd hit a notable growth spurt around Christmas, but I'm very happy to report that he still hadn't caught up to me—I can't even imagine a world where Cyrus was taller than me. Too weird. Would I be the one crawling into his lap?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I fibbed, focusing on keeping a straight face. Given the—honestly adorable—glare my boyfriend was giving me, I don't think I did a very convincing job.

"Then why is she currently on the warpath, trying to find you, with a big red stain all over her shirt?" Each part of his question was accentuated with a finger jabbing into my chest, as he backed me against the wall.

"Oh. That. Didn’t know you’d seen that. Well, to be fair, she started it," I shrugged. If denial wasn't a possibility, my next strategy was to play it all off with absolute nonchalance. Then, maybe my boyfriend would be convinced that it was no big deal. And really, it was no big deal.

So now I'm not even lying? Look at me being good.

"TJ... Please tell me you didn't—"

"Kippen!" Whatever Cyrus was about to whine was cut short as the angry voice of the girls' basketball captain echoed around the corner of the hall. I watched with amusement as the boy before me froze, life flashing before his widening eyes as his finger still pressed into my chest. Total deer in the headlights. No real surprises there. You see, I’ve learned that Cyrus is a boy of rules, and rule-following. And while that deferential nature had mostly saved him from the unpleasantness of punishments throughout his life, it had also denied him a very valuable life skill: the ability to respond quickly to bad situations.

Luckily, that’s where I come in.

I offered the other boy an apologetic smile and grabbed his hand with mine. Before Buffy could round the corner and seal both of our fates, I turned and yanked him down the hall. As fast as I could without literally dragging him, I forged our path away from our mutual threat. A couple heads swiveled in our direction as the enraged voice—now louder—yelled my name a second time, but I paid them no mind as I tugged Cyrus behind me and around the corner. Before any of the stragglers still milling around could question why two boys were holding hands and sprinting down the hallway with a pissed-off Buffy Driscoll in their wake, I threw open the door of the boys' bathroom and dragged the smaller boy inside.

A quick once-over confirmed that the room was empty except for me and my clearly freaked out boyfriend. I let myself relax.

"Don't worry, Muffin," I grinned, taking a few deeper breaths to calm myself down. "I’m pretty sure she legally can't come in here, so we're safe for a while." As I spoke, I eyed the lock on the door. That would probably be overkill.

"Oh no you don't," Cyrus snapped out of whatever surprise had overcome him much quicker than I expected, pushing himself away from the wall and getting back in my face. "Pet names aren't going to get you out of this one. You're gonna tell me what you did right now. I need to figure out what sort of damage control I have to run."

As he stared me down, the muffled yell of his best friend made its way under the heavy bathroom door. I paused. Would Cyrus sell out our hiding spot? Would Buffy defy international safe zone laws and kick in the door? Tense seconds passed in silence before we heard the stomping continue down the hallway.

We were safe.

"I plead the fourth?" I held my hands up, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"It's the fifth, TJ. You plead the fifth. And also, no you don't, because you're going to spill. Now."

Is it weird that I sort of find it hot when he gets all aggressive?

"Before I admit to anything, I would like to remind you that this all started last week when Buffy put squid ink in my water bottle." I fell against the wall across from the surprisingly feisty brunet, who was steadfastly maintaining his glare. "My tongue was black for two days! Two days! Two days when you wouldn't even let me kiss you! So, like I said... she started this."

I stuck my tongue out, pointing for emphasis. Forcing me to go two days without kissing my boyfriend was more than enough to warrant payback.

"So... what?" Cyrus rubbed at his eyes before dragging his hand down his face. "You threw a cup of Kool-Aid at her?"

"Of course not," I raised my eyebrow, playing at being offended. I was a much better prankster than that. "I set a cup of Kool-Aid in her locker so that it would fall on her when she opened it. Much more sophisticated."

"You're right," the other boy rolled his eyes, walking over to lean against the wall next to me, "the level of sophistication is the important part here. Not the fact that my best friend is currently out for your blood."

"Hey, I could have done much worse," I pointed out, bumping my shoulder against my boyfriend. He just shook his head. "I specifically set it up after lunch so that she'd only get hit once school let out. Originally, I was gonna get here early so she'd be stuck with a big stain all day. I'm practically a saint, here."

"Remind me to call the Pope if we get out alive. I'm sure that had nothing to do with you not wanting to wake up twenty minutes earlier."

"I'll have you know that I am naturally an early riser." I grinned, pushing away from the wall to make my way to the sinks. This had all gone much smoother than I had predicted—Cyrus was starting to joke around, which meant he had almost accepted this whole thing as just a new chapter of stupid bickering between me and Buffy. And if Cyrus wasn't upset at me, and we were going to be stuck in an empty bathroom for a while, well...

I checked my reflection in the mirror, making sure I had nothing in my teeth.

"Please, Teej, I've seen you hit the snooze button 8 times in a single morning." I heard a gentle chuckle as the other boy wandered beside me and began examining his face.

"Fine. Whatever the reason, I'm just saying—I was relatively kind while evening the score," I turned, grabbing my boyfriend's arm as he finished fixing his hair. A quick tug and he was stumbling against my chest, right where I wanted him. I was greeted with rolling eyes yet again, but this time accompanied by a soft smile. "Just a little locker surprise. It'll come out in the wash. No harm, no foul."

"Yeah, yeah," Cyrus punched at my shoulder feebly. Chuckling, I bent down to press my nose to his, only to find myself hesitating. Technically, this was already risky for us—even if the halls were mostly empty, we were still at school. The bathroom door was unlocked. We would be in plain view if someone decided to walk in. It was a risk, but... I shook off my hesitation and pulled my boyfriend closer. I could always intimidate anyone who found us into silence. "How'd you even pull that off, a 'locker surprise?'"

"Oh, I just set the cup on the edge of the top shelf and attached it to the door with a string. The brilliance is in the simplicity. You see—"

"No, like, how did you get into her locker? I know you have my combination, but I seriously doubt Buffy gave you hers."

Ah, shit. Exactly the question I was hoping to avoid. Well... distraction time!

"Hmm?" I pushed forward and pressed my lips to the bridge of the other boy's nose, squeezing his sides lightly in an attempt to force a giggle. Once Cyrus gets giggling he’s pretty much a lost cause.

"I said," Cyrus forced out around his bubbling laughter as he pushed away gently, "how did you get into her locker. If my boyfriend's some sort of super spy, I deserve to know."

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Spy stuff. Top secret. Have I ever told you how much I love kissing your cheeks? So kissable." I swooped down, lips puckered, only to be met with a mouthful of hair as my boyfriend ducked out of the way.

"Not in school, Teej," he whispered, despite taking a half step closer. "Also, no Top Secrets. Not from me. C'mon, I wanna know. Do you have lock picks or something? Can I see them? Is it a bad sign if I want you to teach me how to use a lock pick? Does that mean I have criminal tendencies?"

"Gonna stop you there, Underdog, it's not lock picks," I cut in before I got stuck teaching my boyfriend a skill I didn't have—an illegal one at that. "But, y'know... a magician never reveals his secrets."

"Ah, yes. The great Kippini! Trick shot extraordinaire, master manipulator, and now—apparently—psychic! What wonders will he... wait." Cyrus's voice trailed off as he got a far off look in his eyes. Shifting from my grip, the brunet took a step back and looked up at me, suspicion plastered all over his face.

Oh shit.

"You know me," I forced a big smile, reaching out for my boyfriend again. "Practically David Blaine up in here."

"Why does this conversation feel familiar?” Cyrus gently pushed my hand away from his shoulder, eyes getting wider by the second. “We... we talked about lockers this weekend. No, Friday... I dropped the scarf off in Andi’s locker, and you... you asked—“ I felt myself wince as the smaller boy gasped and brought his hand up to his mouth. Fuck.

“Cyrus—“

“Did you... did you trick me into telling you her locker combination?"

“What? Wha—no! No tricks! I promise!”

“You did! We were talking about how all my friends trust me with their combinations, and you asked me... to prove it! You did! What the hell, TJ!”

“Nonono,” I grabbed for my boyfriend’s hands but he pulled them away. The suspicion on his face replacing itself with anger as he continued to stare. “I didn’t trick you, Babe, I swear. It was just a... a coincidence!”

"How do you coincidentally get me to betray my best friend's trust? She'll figure out you learned her combo from me—it's pretty much the only explanation. Crap, she probably already knows. Buffy's gonna kill me! She's going to kill me, and I'm going to deserve it!"

"Cyrus, I swear, I didn't do it on purpose. I really was just messing around when I told you to prove that you knew everyone's combo! I didn't even have anything planned! Just, once you actually did it... I saw an opportunity." 

This, honestly, was the truth. Honestly. I swear. I had been trying to figure out how to get my revenge as Cyrus and I were walking out of the school when the opportunity presented itself. Cyrus remembered that he had borrowed Andi's scarf, and instead of trying to find her, or forgetting it at my house, he'd just popped open Andi's locker and tossed it inside. According to him, the whole Good Hair Crew knew each other's combinations. Apparently, that's a thing that friends do. Who knew? It wasn't until after Cyrus had rattled off all the numbers for Andi, Buffy, and Jonah that my genius plan started forming in my head.

Maybe not so genius in retrospect.

I still put the wrong numbers in three times before I got it open that afternoon.

On the other side of the bathroom, my boyfriend—hopefully that hadn't just changed—was resting his head against the wall, nervously knocking against it with his knuckles.

Crap. I knew he'd be mad, but I figured it would be more of a... funny mad.

"I'm sorry, Cyrus. Here. I'll go apologize to Buffy right now, okay? I'll tell her you had nothing to do with it." Carefully, I reached out to grab his shoulder, worried that he might shake me off again. Worried that I had really fucked up that badly. Am I really that much of a dumbass? Thankfully, he didn't push me away—my heart stuttered as he turned to face me and let out a sigh.

"No. Let me go get her to cool down." He looked me in the eye, and I could hear how upset he was in his voice. "You can apologize to her tomorrow. Maybe."

Shit. I really did fuck up that bad.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well... I'm gonna go find Buffy. But we're talking about this later, okay? I am... surprisingly mad at you." His voice was hard, which told me everything I needed to know about how screwed I was. It sounded so foreign. And the disappointment—it was all over his face.

"Do you still want me to come over tonight?" I squeezed shoulder, watched as he started to lean into it and then stopped himself before nodding and pulling back.

"Yeah, just... I'll text you when."

There was nothing I could do but turn and watch him leave.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

I don't get it. Sometimes it just doesnt make sense. I did the tough stuff, right? I helped Cyrus through his friend problems. I got the big kiss—even if it apparently required breaking my finger to get it. I even screwed up the courage to say ‘boyfriend’ first. I wooed Cyrus Goodman, I courted him, and I got him to go out with me. I thought it was supposed to be easy after that.

Despite what you may have heard, I'm not a complete idiot. Even when it comes to feelings. I knew I liked Cyrus as more than a friend a week after he came back from his trip to London. I was willing to put up with that horrible, grating 'accent' he insisted on using as long as it meant getting to talk to him, which should have been obvious enough to anyone watching. After weeks of nothing but the occasional text, just hearing his voice made me feel... happy. It only took a few days of pondering—why the hell does this dorky kid make me feel these things—for me to realize what it meant.

See? Not a complete idiot.

In retrospect, it wasn't a huge surprise. I knew I liked boys—my internet history is much too, uh... grandiose for me to deny that fact—and I'd known that since before I'd even met Cyrus. But, since I also knew I liked girls—again, internet—I had just planned on... not doing anything about it.

But Cyrus is cute. Very cute. Unfairly cute, sometimes. And he's nice. And fun to talk to. And he's weird in such an intriguing way. Making him smile made my heart race. He's the first person in forever that made me want to prove that I could be more than just an asshole. And did I mention he's cute? 

So plan number one—do nothing about being bi—definitely wasn't gonna work. Threw that one out with abandon. Take two was just the logical next step: throw caution to the wind and get Cyrus Goodman to go out with me.

I didn't even know for sure if he liked boys, but... okay, it might be judgemental or stereotypical or whatever, but I had my suspicions. Sue me. So I tested my theory one day with some not-so-subtle flirting—compliments, jokes, quick touches—and the results were... an adorably flustered Cyrus. So I felt confident. And if Cyrus Goodman liked boys, well then... let's just say I liked my chances. And sure, I almost screwed things up about half a dozen times. I'm TJ Kippen, screwing things up is what I do. At one point I was about two texts from shoving Cyrus out of my life completely when my sister, Sally, stole my phone and literally lectured me on sabotaging myself.

Like, a thirty minute lecture.

So, I guess one good thing came from her finding out I liked guys. Not that it happened by choice. My sister is just the biggest fucking snoop in the world, and, well... I've really got to learn to delete my internet history.

Anyway, the point is, I didn't fuck it up. For once in my life, I—TJ Kippen—didn't fuck something up. I got real close, especially after Cyrus came out to me, but I pulled out a win. I got the kiss. I got the boyfriend. I got someone who cared about me. I got someone I cared about.

So why is not screwing it up so hard?

That was the question I asked myself as I knocked on the door to Cyrus's mom's house, wracked with guilt, and absolutely drenched in sticky sweet soda.

"TJ? You got here... what in the...?" Brown eyes, widened with concern, met my gaze as Cyrus stood in the door. He looked absolutely baffled by what he was seeing, and I couldn't help but smile a little.

"I went to Buffy's to apologize on the way here. Apparently, it's pizza night at the Driscoll house, and she had a two-liter Pepsi with my name on it."

"No... Did she..." Cyrus's voice was quiet, but I could hear just the smallest trace of laughter behind his words.

"The whole two liters. Yeah. This shirt used to be white." I slowly spun around, showing off just how covered I was. My entire shirt was a sad shade of brown, cold and already starting to feel sticky against my skin. Luckily, Spring had come early this year, or I probably would have frozen on my way over.

"Teej... I told you to wait until she cooled down." A soft half-smile grew on his lips and I felt my heart settle for the first time all afternoon. Nothing calms me down like Cyrus being happy. And, conversely, Cyrus being upset is the most anxiety-inducing thing I know. Usually, because it's caused by my screwups. "Am I a bad, um..." his voice dropped to a whisper as he quickly looked over his shoulder, "boyfriend, for thinking you sorta deserved it?"

Hearing his voice calling himself my boyfriend again was almost euphorically stress-relieving.

"No, Underdog. I know I deserved it. If I thought there was a chance you mom had soda in the house, I'd tell you to pour one out too. But, um... do you mind if I come in and clean up? This is... really disgusting."

"Crap, yeah—okay, wait here, I'll grab you a towel. My mom will kill me if you drip soda on the rug. Let's just... I'll be right back." Leaving the door open, Cyrus frantically scurried into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with some kitchen towels. "I think a shower will be necessary."

"Please, yeah."

"Alright," still halfway between frantic and finding my situation hilarious, he shoved the bundle of towels into my arms. "Upstairs. I'll grab some spare clothes for you. But if you get a single drop on the floor, so help us both..."

+++++++++++++++++++++++

"Do you know why I'm mad at you?"

The sun was almost entirely set as Cyrus and I sat on his porch swing, the sky a mosaic of pinks and purples and oranges in the last flourish of day. It was a beautiful scene to have our ‘serious conversation’ finally un-pause during. Showering had quickly transitioned to sitting down for an early dinner with Cyrus's parents, and that meant putting on our best 'we're just strangely good friends and nothing more' act. Sitting on opposite sides of the table, talking about weekend plans, definitely not allowed to play footsie. It wasn't until the adults left for a housewarming party that we got the chance to actually talk. The whole 'not being out to our families' thing sometimes made it difficult to do the whole... boyfriend thing.

Secrets can be annoyingly inconvenient to keep. But Cyrus and I had both agreed that it was best to keep the knowledge of our relationship to the small group of friends who essentially already knew. And that did not include our families—outside of Sally.

At first, it was especially tough because I don't think Cyrus's mom trusted me very much. She was always watching. It was almost impossible to have alone time. A lot of movies were wasted on the couch with three feet of space between us. Sleepovers were put on hold after the second one until she was able to meet my mom—who luckily didn't screw anything up. It took weeks of being nothing but charming, polite, and respectful—hey, I can pull it off when I need to—every time I was in her presence before she finally started feeling comfortable letting Cyrus and I have unsupervised time. It wasn't until very recently that she actually felt comfortable with me being in the house while she wasn't there, but what can I say? I'm slowly worming my way in. Either that or—after months of seeing me attached at her son's hip—she was beginning to realize that resistance was futile.

Though, according to Cyrus, his mom was not the type of person who could be worn down slowly. It was either charm her over time, and prove that I was a 'safe' friend, or be prepared for a lot of date nights spent three feet apart on a couch under the watchful eye of a forty-seven-year-old Jewish therapist.

It's crazy to me, just how protective all of Cyrus's parents are. It's like they think every new person is gonna pull him into a world of drugs, violence, and motorcycles. Not that there's anything wrong with motorcycles. Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure my parents have disapproved of every one of my friends between second grade and when I brought home Cyrus, and they've never done shit about it. It's a completely unfamiliar world to me. 

I shudder to think of how they'll react if they find out they've been giving Cyrus alone time with his boyfriend. Alone time to do... boyfriendly things.

Which mostly means kisses and cuddles and R-rated movies. This time, it apparently meant our serious conversation.

"I have a few reasons in my head that seem plausible," I admitted, feeling my heart drop slightly. Cyrus had acted as if nothing was wrong all through dinner, to the point I'd almost convinced myself that all had been forgiven. Which I was not gonna question. But once we waved goodbye to his parents and settled on the porch swing, hands finally clasped together as we watched the sunset, a semi-uncomfortable silence fell. That's when I knew it wouldn't be that easy. "Is there any way I can, y'know, apologize for all of them?"

"That would be way too easy," Cyrus smiled gently and squeezed my hand, anchoring me in reality. A universal apology was such a sweet fantasy.

"Yeah, I figured as much. I really am sorry, though. I swear, if I thought it would upset you this much, I never would have used her locker."

"How much did you think it would upset me?" Cyrus's voice wasn't accusing, which I was thankful for.

"I thought it would be more like, 'Darn it, TJ,'" I tried to copy my boyfriend's voice as poorly as possible, hoping to elicit a laugh, "'I can't believe you did that, you're such a rascal, as punishment, uh... no more kisses for the rest of the day!'"

"Oh, so you were willing to give up kisses to pull this off?" No giggle, but I saw a grin tugging at the edge of his lips as he tried to act offended.

"Only for a day! Please no more than that, I don't think I'd survive." I pulled our clasped hands up to my lips and pressed a chaste kiss against his knuckles. "You know I hate it when I can't be around you."

"Y'know, now that you say that..." The other boy tugged our hands back between us with a soft smile before bumping his shoulder into mine. "I think it's been over a month since we've gone more than a day apart."

I took a second to think back over the past few weeks. Neither of us had missed any days of school, and we'd done something every weekend—the park, the arcade, a movie. I honestly couldn't remember the last time we'd spent an entire weekend apart.

"Holy crap, you're right. Wow. Ugh! Does that mean we're one of those couples? Oh god! Quick, break up with me before we start matching our outfits every day!" I knocked my shoulder against his, relaxing into the sound of his laugh.

"Sorry, Teej, not gonna happen. We are together 4 evah." His giggling grew stronger even as he tried to fight back his smile, and it made my heart flutter. Just a little. 

"Together five evah, you mean." I wasn't even trying to look serious now.

"You know it, babe."

A more comfortable silence fell between us as the laughter faded. I hate to admit it, but when Cyrus left me in that bathroom, when I wandered home alone, when I knocked on his door covered in soda, I had asked myself what I would do if he broke up with me. I didn't really think it would happen—this wasn't the first time we'd had an argument, and Cyrus was a master at keeping things reasonable—but I was still scared. It wasn't until that moment, as the last drips of the sun disappeared behind the horizon, and Cyrus laid his head on my shoulder with a sigh, that I felt that fear totally disappear.

"Do you remember," Cyrus started a few minutes later, head still on my shoulder, "how, when you needed Buffy’s help in Math, you tricked me into telling you how to get her to do what you wanted?"

"I... yeah. I do."

Man... I can be a real shit sometimes.

"And when she found out, she made me choose between you and her?"

I nodded, feeling an extra strong twinge of guilt that kept me from saying anything more.

"This just reminded me a lot of that, is all. And I never want to be put in that situation again. Not that Buffy is gonna do that over a cup of Kool-Aid, it just... It felt like the same kind of, well... betrayal."

I wasn't really sure how to respond to that. I hadn't really thought of what I'd done as a, y'know, betrayal. That's such a strong word. And Cyrus doesn't throw around strong words for no reason.

"Am I a bad boyfriend?" I was as surprised as Cyrus looked by the words that came out of my mouth. I hadn't planned on asking that. Though, it's not that uncommon for me to say things without thinking.

Cyrus pulled back, looking at my face for a few seconds as if searching for something, his wonderfully thick brows furrowed in thought. It was his, 'this isn't a simple situation,' face, which didn't make me feel... amazing.

"No," he said, a gentle smile returning to his lips as he sat back against the swing to stare off into the darkening sky. The stars were starting to come out, and I thought momentarily of the night we'd bundled up in the cold at midnight so he could show me constellations. "All in all, I think you're a pretty good boyfriend. I'd say you're the best I've ever had, but, well..." He hesitated and leaned against my arm. I couldn't help but chuckle at his dumb joke. "I just think you forget to think about others sometimes. Like, really think."

"I'm always thinking about you," even though my boyfriend wasn't looking at my face, I smirked at the sky as I squeezed his hand.

"Not like that," A full-blown smile broke onto my face as the smaller boy rolled his eyes and lightly slapped my chest before resting his head on my shoulder once again. Spring hadn't fully wrested control away from winter, and it was getting chilly as the warmth of the sun faded. Perfect weather for my boyfriend to cuddle up to my side and share his body heat.

The boy is like a radiator sometimes.

"I know what you mean. I think," I whispered, leaning my head on top of his. "I'm trying to get better at it."

"I know. And that's why I'm not really too upset right now. Now that I’ve calmed down. I mean, no one's perfect." A gentle breeze blew around us, putting thoughts of moving inside into my head.

"Sometimes I think you do it too much. Think about others. I worry it's gonna drive you crazy one day."

"You're probably right," Cyrus sighed, shifting to press more of his body against mine. "I guess we balance each other out, that way."

"Yeah. I really am sorry, though. Truly. I shouldn't have gotten caught up in a stupid prank war in the first place..."

"I know you are, Babe. And it's okay if you and Buffy prank each other. I just... can you just promise that from now on you'll keep me out of it? Even for the fun ones? They're entertaining to watch, but... I don't want to be caught between you two again."

"Yeah, absolutely. I promise."

"Thanks." He shifted, and I missed the warmth and feeling of soft hair against my face for just a second until I felt a pair of lips on mine. It was a soft kiss, quick and to the point—I barely had a chance to respond before he pulled back with a smile on his face. But the message was clear.

I forgive you.

"We should probably go inside soon. I want to be most of the way through the movie before my mom comes back."

"True. Never know when she's gonna make us turn it off and put on Toy Story 3."

"That happened once," Cyrus rolled his eyes, jumping up from the swing and leading the way to his living room. "And what did you expect, trying to watch Die Hard while she was around?"

"I expected to finish the dang movie, Underdog," I flung my hands in the air with exasperation. "My brother showed me that movie when I was eight! It's not even that bad!"

"Yeah, well your brother also got you addicted to horror films, so I'm starting to question his judgment when it comes to motion pictures." Shaking his head, Cyrus settled onto the couch and pulled up Netflix.

"Hey, speaking of my brother, I got a chance to talk to him last night. Turns out the spring break at the school he's teaching at lines up with ours. He was thinking of coming home to visit."

"Oh that's awesome! Wait, your family isn't going somewhere this spring break? I figured I'd be texting you while you skied the Alps or something."

"We usually do, but I don't think we have any plans this year. Dad's too busy building his new company or whatever. And if Brian's offering to come home, I doubt my mom's gonna plan a last minute thing for us." I grabbed a blanket from the basket beside the couch and jumped onto the cushion next to my boyfriend, pulling him close before he could try to fight me off.

"Oh that's perfect! I don't think we have plans, either. Are you excited to see your brother? How long has it been since you saw him?"

"Over a year. And yeah, assuming my mom doesn't refuse to let him in for skipping Christmas this year, I'm stoked. But..." I glanced over at Cyrus. My Cyrus. The most important person in my life right now—a slot that had previously been filled only by my brother. "So, I really want to introduce you to him. You'll love him, I promise, he tells the best stories. And..."

"Yeah, of course, Teej." The smaller boy shifted into a more comfortable position, half on my lap as he wrapped the blanket around us. "I can't wait to meet him."

"Cool! Cool, yeah it'll be great. I just... I sorta... And it's okay if you say no, I understand because we agreed, and—"

"TJ, what is it?” Cyrus asked, hushed. “You're rambling enough to sound like, well... me."

I realized suddenly that the arms I had wrapped around his torso were probably squeezing him tighter than was necessary—or comfortable—and my heart rate was elevated. 

Apparently, I was nervous.

I nodded and swallowed down the lump in my throat.

"I’m really excited for you to get to meet him, and I want to introduce you to him as... as my boyfriend."

I held my breath, and waited for his response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to my world, with these two adorable boys. Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think!


	2. You Wanna Do What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus's response to TJ is... unexpected.

The list of people who know that Cyrus and I are dating is short. Which is just the way I like it. It is, in no particular order, as follows:

Buffy. Cyrus's best friend. Helped push us together against her better instincts—and probably against her best interest. While part of me would love to keep her in the dark, there was zero chance we would be able to hide our relationship from her. The girl's a human lie detector, and Cyrus falls apart at the first sign of interrogation. Plus—and I will never admit this in front of her—I almost trust Buffy. Her 'I'm always right,' attitude and ridiculous stubbornness get on my nerves, but I’m pretty sure that no matter how hard I push her, she's not going to out me. I hope. Especially since that would mean outing her best friend at the same time.

Walker. Fuck, I didn't want this guy to know. Neither of us particularly did, but he was dating Buffy when Cyrus and I got together. And Cyrus had a lot of fantasies that involved, for some reason, double dates. So I let Cyrus have this one. Because I’m a good boyfriend. I wasn’t happy, though. I mean, he's a nice enough guy—I sort of miss those double dates now that Buffy broke up with him—so it’s not like anything bad came of it. In the end, it was whatever. I'm over it.

Andi. Much like Buffy, there wasn't much question here. Cyrus tells his friends pretty much everything—though I really, truly hope he keeps some things about our relationship private—so I didn't even try to fight. I mean, I wanted to, but I didn't. Not that I had anything against the girl, but every person is a risk, y’know? But it wasn’t so bad. Once she'd finished threatening me not to hurt her friend, Andi was ten-thousand times nicer to me than Buffy ever was. Andi gave me a hug and offered to make us matching bracelets, and invited me to see the Andi Shack when I needed to make a personalized Valentine’s card. So currently, the petite crafter is sitting way above the basketball captain in my book.

Jonah. Unlike the other members of the Good Hair Crew, telling Jonah wasn't a given. At least not for me. As Cyrus pointed out, while Jonah knew about his crush on me, it was entirely possible that we could date for years before frisbee boy figured it out on his own. On the other hand, Cyrus swore up and down that Jonah was as trustworthy as Andi and Buffy. On the other-other hand, I wanted to keep the information in as small a circle as possible. On the other-other-other hand... well, Cyrus used to have a crush on Jonah—and Jonah knew Cyrus had a crush on him—and maybe I just wanted to make sure there was no question in anyone's mind who did and did not have a chance with Cyrus. In that, I was the only one who had a chance, and Mr. Dimples was shit out of luck. No, I don't care if he's historically straight, I didn't want him getting any funny ideas when he realizes how hot my boyfriend is. And, who knew, apparently my ego out-ranked my self-preservation instinct on that one, and Jonah Beck knows not to mess with my boy.

Sally. Stole my fucking phone when I was in the shower. Doesn't matter that I had changed my passcode the week before—to the date Cyrus and I had our first kiss—she had it cracked before I finished washing my hair. Whatever. I did my best to scare the shit out if her later to get even. I knew keeping the truth from my sister was futile, anyway. She was like a bloodhound for secrets, and when I tried to keep anything from her she'd just pester me until I came clean. Plus, as annoying as she is, Sally's not the kind of sibling who's going to out me to our parents. She's just the kind of sibling who will turn everything I say about Cyrus into a dirty joke, which—depending on the quality of the joke—might actually be worse.

And finally... Reed. I know—but before you say anything, let me explain. It wasn't my idea. You see, Reed and I go way back, so I know him better than most, which means I trust the fucker about as far as I can throw him. Luckily, he also knows me well enough to know that if he tries anything, I will literally throw him—into a dumpster. Despite this, Reed is my best friend. He's the first person to know I was bi—a story for another time—and I’m pleasantly surprised every day that hasn't betrayed me. Yet. I have to assume it’s because I've got more compromising information on that fucker than the KGB has on our president. It would be mutually assured destruction. No, it’s not me that I was worried about when it came to telling Reed. It was Cyrus. My boyfriend trusts people, assumes they're good as a default. And it's incredibly dangerous to give Reed sensitive information and then just... trust him. You have to watch him like a hawk, or he'll screw you over in ways you aren't expecting. 

So yeah, that's my best friend.

I fought against telling Reed—I fought against telling everyone on the list, but Reed especially so—even if he is my best friend. I knew he was smart enough to figure it out eventually, but I was happy letting him do that on his own. Cyrus, unsurprisingly, came at it from a different viewpoint. He thought I needed someone who was my friend—not his—who knew about our relationship. Someone I could whine to—not that I have anything to whine about, my boyfriend is amazing—without worrying that it would get back to him. He was convinced I needed a confidant, said it was important for our relationship to have balance, and Reed was the best option. 

So, against my better judgment, we told Reed.

Six. That's six people—and you. Six more than I ever really wanted, but according to Cyrus zero wasn’t a ‘realistic option.’ And yeah, there were others who... wondered. My basketball teammates especially liked to make comments while I finished the season as the team manager. But I always shut that shit down before it got too loud—no one knew for sure, and no one was dumb enough to ask. So six people who know why Cyrus and I always sit next to each other. Six people who know why neither of us seemed that upset not to have dates on Valentine's day. And for four months that had been more than enough. We were safe, we were comfortable, we had support. We had no reason to change.

And there I was, sitting in the living room of Cyrus's house, asking to change it anyway. I actually wanted to add to that list. Just by one. One person. It felt weird but it felt right. And maybe it was a big ask, but I hoped Cyrus would understand.

It surprised me how nervous I felt as I waited for my words to register in my boyfriend's head. 

'I want to introduce you as my boyfriend.'

My brother has always been pretty much my favorite person in the world. And he’s the only person besides Cyrus who I would freely trust with this kind of information. It would be so relieving to get to share this part of my life with him—for months I’d been dodging his questions about girls every time we talked on the phone. Holy crap I was getting excited just thinking about it. Brian loves to rag on me, so I could already hear how much shit he was gonna give me for being in a serious relationship. I knew he'd love Cyrus, if only because he'd have one more person to joke with about my bullshit. And I suspected that Cyrus might actually be smart enough to engage with him on, like, philosophy and stuff, which would be awesome because then they'd bond, and my two favorite people—

"Really? Oh my gosh! I'd be honored!"

Huh? Oh, shit! Yes!

"Are you sure? You'd be okay with me telling him? About us? I know it’s a lot to ask, and you've never met him, and—"

"Yeah! It's totally fine, Teej. Of course I..." Cyrus paused, gently taking my hand between his and giving me a gentle smile. "I'm perfectly fine with you telling—"

Before he could even finish his sentence I was pulling him into a hug so tight that I heard him squeak as the air was squeezed from his lungs. Whatever he was about to say was lost to giggles as I pressed quick kisses all over his face and neck.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're the best boyfriend ever!" The smaller boy weakly struggled against my chest until I suddenly remembered that air was an important factor for a living boyfriend, and I released my hug. Gasping breaths and goofy smile did nothing to stop me from pressing more kisses to his blushing cheeks, though.

"Teej! TJ! Babe!" As he struggled for breath, Cyrus got his hands in front of my face and pushed me away until I reluctantly released him to fall back onto the couch. He laid there, catching his breath, as I hovered above him. He looked so adorably flustered that I wanted to dive on top of him—I was in an amazing mood and I was really feeling a make-out session—but he continued to hold his hands up as a way of warding me off as he had calmed down. 

"You have no idea how happy that makes me."

"You almost squeezed the life out of me, Teej, I think I get the picture," Cyrus smiled as his breathing steadied.

"I know, crap, I was just so worried you were gonna say you weren't comfortable with telling anyone else—which, I would have understood and I wouldn't have pressed, but, like, it’s my brother, y'know? And Brian, I just, I've never really kept anything from Brian, at least nothing this big, and you’re so important, and—"

"Babe!" My boyfriend squeezed my knee, knocking me out of the flow of consciousness pouring out of my mouth. "You're rambling again. I'm beginning to worry that I've had too great of an influence on you."

"Fine. I'll just..." I held my hands in my lap, sat up straight, and smiled as big and wide as I could. Fuck, I was just so happy!

"You're ridiculous. Why would you think... nevermind. Of course I'm not going to stop you from telling your brother. I know how important he is to you. I mean, actually, I've sort of been wanting to talk to you about, uh... well this seems as good a time as any."

"What's up, Muffin. I'm all ears." My mood was too good to put too much thought into what my boyfriend was saying.

"Well, you know, it goes without saying that this is something we would talk about, and we wouldn't do anything unless we were both comfortable with it, but... we've been dating for a while now, right? Right. And, well, I... lately, I've been feeling so comfortable with who I am—compared to the beginning of school, being gay used to just... scare me. But it doesn't now!" I smiled, feeling a warmth radiate in my chest. I was happy to hear that but also wondering where his rant was headed. "Dating you, I know that it's helped me so much. Way more than I thought it would. I mean, there's other factors too, but I really—I mean, I used to think being gay meant I was going to be alone. Forever. Or at least until college. I was resigned to it. And then you—obviously, that's not true! Because of you, I'm not scared of... of being isolated. I'm just not... scared. Anymore. I feel connected! I like feeling connected. And I'm so excited you want to tell your brother because I hope that means, I don't know... that you feel the same way now? Maybe?" I saw as Cyrus got that hopeful look in his eye, clearly looking for a response. But, I'll admit, I wasn't exactly, um... following. It all seemed good, though.

So I nodded, a small quick nod.

"Yeah." His smile grew wider. Alright, another point to Kippen. This boyfriend thing isn't so hard. "So I was thinking..." he paused again to take a deep breath, taking my hands in his once again. "What if we didn't stop with your brother?"

I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't that.

"Didn't... stop? What do you... mean?" My brain tried to catch up with everything my boyfriend had just said. I love his rants, but they can be a lot. Happy, proud, sappy, but now just... confused.

"What if, um, after we told your brother. We just... kept telling more people? Until we told, well, everyone."

Um.

"What?"

"I mean, like I said, you can say no. I get it. It sorta freaks me out just to think about it, but at the same time..."

"You want to tell... everyone?" I'll be honest with you. I was struggling to see the upside to this plan. I was... yeah, I was struggling.

"Well, not, like, individually. But recently I've just been wondering—it would be so nice to not have to hide it anymore. Don't you think? We could hold hands at school and go to the dance together, and... yeah. And I know at first you were so strict on anyone knowing, but, I mean, it already feels like neither of us cares that much about being caught these days. So what if we just... let ourselves get caught? Stop hiding it? We live in a liberal enough place and... I mean, we can't be the only ones at Jefferson. Maybe we could find more—"

"You want to tell our parents?" I could feel my face contorting with confusion. I know he hadn't said it specifically, but he had said... everyone. And my brain was very focused on the fact that parents were included in that group. The idea felt so foreign as I tried to think it through—it truly did not make sense to me. What could we possibly gain from doing that.

"I mean... sort of? I trust my parents, and they’re important to me. So... yeah. I do. Plus, I feel like it would be hard to keep it from them once too many people know. And to be honest, I think my Dad already suspects something. I'm worried he's going to start asking questions soon, and it'll just be so much easier if we tell them on, y'know, our own timetable."

"What? No. Babe, that's... no, we don't want to do that."

"We... don't?" Cyrus looked at me, confusion on his face. Confusions and something else I was too confused to identify.

"No. Muffin. Cyrus. Babe. Do you know what happens if our parents find out we're dating?" I shook my head slightly and reached over to put my hand on my boyfriend's shoulder. He felt oddly stiff under my touch.

"Well for one, I'll finally be able to hold your hand in front of them."

"Yeah. Exactly. Now, take that, and multiply it by a thousand. And again. Because any time we want to do anything, it's gonna be in front of them. It's not gonna stop at holding hands. Because they're never—never—going to let us have alone time again."

"Teej—"

"Say goodbye to sleepovers. Goodbye to make outs behind closed doors. No more nights home alone, either," I gestured to the empty house. My heart started racing, flashing back to all the times we had almost been caught kissing in this room—an activity my boyfriend apparently wanted to just give up to the shadow of constant supervision. Across the room, the Netflix menu sat forgotten on the TV as Cyrus stared at his hands.

"Well, maybe at first, but... they'll get more lenient over time, TJ. Even my mom doesn't want to, like, stifle my relationships. And I really want to intro—"

"That's assuming they don't freak out on us for keeping this a secret for so long! They're going to be angry, Cyrus. They could—the might forbid us from seeing each other! Lock you away from me! And that's just your parents. At least we can be pretty sure they'll be okay with the whole gay thing. Cyrus, you know my parents. You've met my dad. You know how much of an utter asshole he—" It was only when I saw my boyfriend flinch that I realized how heated I had become. Heated enough to slip up and swear in front of him, a mistake I hadn't made in weeks. My voice echoed in my head much louder than I had wanted, much more aggressive in tone and word choice. Shit. I needed to get myself back under control. 

I took a second to breathe as Cyrus stared at me with wide eyes.

My heart didn't calm as much as I wanted, but I couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"Crap. I'm sorry. It's just... In a perfect world, the only time my Dad would ever find out I like guys is if I was literally about to marry a man. And definitely not until after he's paid for my college."

"Oh. Right." My boyfriend's voice sounded small. Clearly this wasn't the answer he was hoping for. And I hated that. But I hated the idea of telling my dad even more.

"And it’s not like we could just keep it in the school! Like you said, once everyone knows, there's no way to keep it from getting back to our parents. To my parents. And... no. Absolutely not. I can't do that, Cyrus."

"Can we at least talk about it?" Cyrus reached for my hand again, but I was barely paying attention. "Maybe just... I don't know—"

"What's there to talk about? I'm not ready for that, okay? You said it was okay for me to say no. I'm saying no."

"Well it's just—it's okay to be scared to tell your parents, but maybe if we—"

"I'm not scared."

"TJ, it's okay. I'm a little scared too, it's just—"

"No, you don't get it. I'm not. I’m not scared. It's just none of his business. It’s none of their business. I don't want him—them—to know. That's it."

The other boy leaned in as if to comfort me, but I saw him getting ready to speak again. A fire flashed behind my eyes. I couldn’t believe he was still going. What part of 'no' did he not understand? “Well—”

“Cyrus, I said no.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room, one I didn’t have any desire to break if it meant continuing that conversation.

"Can you please stop interrupting me." Cyrus’s voice was quiet, but there was no wavering in his words.

"Well, can you stop trying to convince me to do something that I clearly don't want to do?" I crossed my arms over my chest.

"I..." He hesitated, and I stayed strong. I had no plans to back down. "I'm sorry. You're right." The words were like music to my ears. Slow, weak music with a sad tempo, but I'd take anything over what I'd just had to hear.

"Thank you. I... thank you. Yeah. Can we just... watch a movie. Okay?"

Cyrus moved over, increasing the space between us as he started surfing through the options. I tried to get my heart to settle down as I shoved myself into the corner of the couch, and tried to forget the past five minutes.

"What, um... What did you want to watch?" The words sounded awkward, Cyrus’s voice stiff while he stared straight at the TV.

"I dunno." I didn’t really feel like putting thought into an answer. I was good with anything as long as it meant ending the argument.

"How about this one?"

"Sure. Looks good."

Silence fell between us once again as he scrolled through the options one more time before settling back onto the nature documentary as his final choice. I’ve never learned so much about animals in so little time as I had once Cyrus started choosing our movie night films. The silence settled even deeper between us as the movie loaded in.

"Did you want any popcorn."

"Nah, I'm good," I mumbled, turning to stare at the black screen. I just wanted to watch the movie and put the awkwardness behind us.

"Okay."

As the documentary started, Cyrus got up to go turn down the lights. When he returned to the couch, he pulled the blanket over us and settled in next to me, a few inches of space between our legs. That was unusual, but I understood. Things still felt tense. I just hoped the movie would fix that, give us a chance to decompress. Under the blanket, I reached for my boyfriend’s hand, feeling the familiar calming of my heart—apparently, I was still more energized than I realized—as he responded to my touch, pulling my hand to rest on his lap with a squeeze. But neither of us made a move to correct the distance between us.

I think that was the first movie in months that we’d been able to watch all the way through without getting distracted by some heavy making out.

Which sucked, and I hated that I'd had to tell Cyrus no, but...

Well, at least the issue was settled.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Well, that could have gone better.”

Reed stood up from behind the camera, hands on his hips as he glared disappointedly at the Furby sitting thirty feet away in the dust of the quarry.

"Maybe it was a dud?" I offered.

"I don't think a quarter-stick of dynamite can be a dud, Tyler Jerry," Reed explained in a very matter-of-fact tone. I sighed. The name joke had gotten old before Christmas had even arrived, but Reed was apparently staying strong months later. 

Why is everyone I know so stubborn?

"I mean, like, the fuse or something. Maybe it burnt out or some shit. I don't know, I know exactly jack about dynamite," I shrugged and scanned the edge of the quarry for the fiftieth time. It was still empty, but you never knew when some rando was going to show up with his dirt bike.

The last thing I needed was to get reported to the police.

"Then you go check it."

"What? Fuck that. This is your shit, I'm not blowing my hand off." I shoved my friend's shoulder hard enough to almost make him stumble into his camera set up. Well, that was being overly generous. It was just my phone, held up by some pieces of wood he'd rubber-banded together. A Hollywood director he was not.

"I can't just end it with the Furby still in one piece. No one's gonna watch that!" he exclaimed.

"No one's gonna watch it regardless, fuck face. I bet there's five-thousand videos of this exact thing on YouTube right now."

"Don't criticize my art, asshole. Go check if it's safe." Reed pushed me towards the terrifying toy—which, in case you weren't following, was essentially a fucking bomb—with a laugh.

"Fuck no! Do it yourself!"

"I'm way too pretty to take a risk like that," Reed shook his head, kneeling down behind his phone again to adjust the screen.

"I'm not taking another step closer to that thing."

"C'mon, daylight's—"

Before he could finish his surely witty response, a terrifyingly loud blast sent a jolt through my spine. It was only a fraction of a second, but with the surge of adrenaline that instantly coursed through my body, it felt like a full minute of a booming explosion. My ears were ringing, but what freaked me out the most was that I definitely felt something hit the back of my head. I was sure I was about to die.

"Fuck! That!" I shouted, sprinting in the opposite direction of the Furby's demise.

"Fuck yeah!" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Reed step around and kneel down in front of the camera to give his stupid send off speel. It was not his first 'Blank vs. Dynamite' video but it was the first one that had almost killed me. I didn't even feel like turning around the see the end result.

"You are such a fucking asshole, dude," I grumbled, patting down the back of my hoodie—making sure there weren't any singed spots or bleeding wounds or melted plastic embedded in my spine.

"You’ll get over it. Wanna see how it came out?" The other boy blew away a lock of blond hair that had flopped in front of his eyes, an overly wide smile still on his face as he snapped the phone up from the ground. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Unbothered, Reed walked over to me as he pulled the video up on my device.

"It's called exploring the limits of our world, society, and nature, ass-hat."

"Oh fuck off," I rolled my eyes as Reed mumbled something about editing as he skipped over his introduction, the overly long wait, as well as me stumbling into frame. "You're not some tortured artist. You're a pyromaniac with his daddy's credit card."

"Don't worry Tannis Joplin, I'll blur your face out before I post it."

"Bull." Reed has no idea how to use editing software. Despite my protests, I couldn't help but be drawn to the overly bright video as I saw my past self arguing with an off-camera Reed. Out of nowhere, the Furby sitting two dozen feet behind me exploded in a cloud of smoke and brown dust, pieces of plastic and electronics and fur flying in every direction. And yup, a piece of beak totally hit me in the ear.

As the me in the video bolted out of view, a text notification popped up at the top of the screen. From Cyrus.

'Sure.'

"Oh, how's Muffin Man doing?" Reed asked as I grabbed the phone from him.

I sighed, ignoring my best friend to flip over to the chat with my boyfriend. Muffin Man was not good. That was his tenth one-word response in a row, which was all I'd heard from him all day.

Apparently, unbeknownst to me, we hadn’t actually stopped fighting.

"Oh shit, that's not a happy face. Trouble in paradise?" Reed asked, feigning concern. After years of friendship, I knew better than to think he might actually be worried about my happiness or some sappy bullshit like that.

But at least the thought was there.

"Yeah? I dunno." Even if he didn't really care, Reed was still a set of ears that I could talk to, and pretend was a normal, caring person. And if the sickly flip-flopping of my stomach as I tried to come up with a response to my boyfriend was anything to go by, I needed someone to listen to me. "It's probably nothing," I hedged.

"Aww, what'd you do? Show him your dick? That must've been disappointing for him.”

I looked up from the phone and glared. I just... glared. He had really just said that.

"There's seriously something wrong with you." I shook my head, looking back down at my half constructed message asking if Cyrus wanted to meet for dinner the next day.

"Ah, learn to take a joke, Tiny Johnson." With a groan, I turned around and started walking away from the blue-eyed asshole. I didn't have time for this. I needed to figure out what magic combination of words would get my boyfriend to talk to me like normal.

Should I respond with a specific plan in mind to keep him engaged? Or should I be as vague as possible to encourage a conversation?

"Hey, yo, seriously. What'd you fuck up?" Refusing to take the hint, Reed jogged up to fall into stride beside me—apparently unconcerned with cleaning up the debris from his little experiment. "If you hurt my Muffin Man, I will exact vengeance."

"He's not your 'Muffin Man,' dumbass. And I didn't fuck anything up." I groaned, turning off my phone with the incomplete message still unsent.

"And I didn't put a rotten egg in Lester's gym bag last week." Turning, I directed a questioning look at my friend as he wagged his eyebrows and elbowed me in the side.

"Dude. What the fuck?"

"Oh, sorry, I thought we were telling obvious lies."

"I didn't fuck up! Seriously! He asked me a question, I gave him my answer, I thought we were fine! That's how it's supposed to work, isn't it?"

"Depends," Reed shrugged, jogging over to pick his bike up from the dirt. "What was the question?" I eyed my friend, suddenly feeling just a whole-body reluctance to start the long ride back to his house—I had a feeling it would be full of questions I didn't want to put up with.

Still. When it came to Cyrus, my options for conversational partners were severely limited. And Reed was somehow still a better choice than my own sister.

"Shit. Whatever," I resigned myself to an unpleasant conversation. "He asked if we could, I dunno, stop keeping our relationship a secret." It felt weird just saying those words, putting them out there into the world. It felt unnatural.

"Oh, shit. He wants you guys to come out together?" I nodded. "That's a big move."

"Yeah. Right? See? And specifically, he wanted us to come out to our parents too. Like that’s no big deal." I threw my hands up in the air.

"Ahhhh, I see. So that's how you fucked it up." Reed nodded, the sage look on his face telling me that he thought he'd just made sense of everything. He always looks so cocky when he thinks he's got everything figured out.

"What's that supposed to mean." I grabbed my own bike and we began to walk our way out of the quarry.

"I assume you said no?"

"Yeah, because it's a stupid idea. Don't tell him I said that." I knew Reed and Cyrus occasionally—not often—texted each other.

"You're secrets safe with me. Scouts honor."

"You got kicked out of scouts."

"The sentiment still stands. Besides, I get you, bro. It's completely ridiculous, of course you said no. And I'm sure you were understanding and listened to his side of things, and then let him down gently and... oh wait, no," he clapped my shoulder. "That's what a smart person would have done."

"Oh, fuck off." I started walking faster, pushing my bike up the steep gravel slope so I could get to the flat road and get the fuck out of there.

"Let's see," unfortunately I couldn't get far enough fast enough to escape Reed's voice, "you probably, what, said he was ridiculous, made some smart-ass comment about not being able to make out any more, and then... shut him down? No room for negotiation?

I paused as I reached the top of the hill.

Fuck.

"How'd I do? Hmm? Going by the look on your face, I'd say... eighty percent correct? Maybe you didn't use the word ridiculous—"

"What does it matter," I deflected, feeling anger bubble away in my chest. "He said I could say no, I said no, why am I the villain here? He's the one who asked me to do something I’m not comfortable with! How is this suddenly about me fucking up?"

I looked at the road in front of us. If I jumped on my bike and pedaled as hard as I could, we wouldn't be able to talk. The wind would be too loud. Which sounded amazing at that moment. But beside me, Reed was looking at me with exasperation all over his face. Clearly, he wasn't done.

Even if I ran away now, he's the kind of asshole who's just gonna keep bringing it back up until he's satisfied.

I started walking my bike down the road.

"What. Just say what you're thinking so we can go home, Reed."

"While I hate to say this, Muffin Man may actually be in the wrong on this one. Lord have mercy on us all." I heard Reed fall into step behind me as we started our journey back to his house.

"Thank you," I looked over my shoulder and groaned as I realized my blond friend still wasn't done.

"But the little man's biggest crime is simply not knowing how terrified his boyfriend is of coming out."

"Fuck off. I'm not 'terrified' of coming out," I shot a glare in Reed's direction, not phasing him in the slightest. "It's just a stupid fucking idea."

"Not terrified? Man, do I need to remind you how freaked out you were when I figured out you liked dudes?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Shit, bro, if you blocked it out I get it. All that crying and begging was not a good look for you." The blond’s hand popped into the edge of my vision as he gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

I’ve gotta say, I don’t know if it’s a new therapist or what, but Reed had recently gotten a lot better at pretending like he actually cared about other people.

"Shut up. I did not beg." I shrugged his hand away.

“Yeah. You did,” my friend chuckled. “Like, embarrassingly desperate.”

“No. I didn’t. I don’t beg.”

“Wait, seriously dude? Please, tell me—how did it go down in your head? Because...” The blond pouted, tracing a fake tear down the side of his cheek.

“Well, fuck, Reed. It wasn’t exactly my idea of a perfect day! Not something I wanna think about a lot, y'know? I don't know, man.”

“What, seriously?” Reed veered the front wheel of his bike so that it clanged into mine. “It was barely a year ago! How can you not remember!”

“I remember some shit, okay? The big stuff. You asked if I was gay, and I said I liked dudes, and then made you promise to never tell anyone. What else matters?”

Reed stopped. I barely realized until I had pulled a few feet away, but he was staring at me, an incredulous and bemused look on his face.

“What?” I asked, feeling my temper start to finally flare. This was getting stupid.

“That’s really how you remember it?”

“Yeah, Reed," I spat. "That’s really how I fucking remember it.”

“Holy shit, you’re delusional.” Shaking his head, he started walking to catch up with me again.

“Alright. Fuck this.” I swung my leg over my bike’s seat and got ready to push off. “I’m done. I’ll see you when you make your way back to reality, asshole.”

“No, wait! Bad!” Again, Reed's hand shot forward, gripping my shoulder tightly this time. “You know I’m usually all for letting you live in your delusions. But for Muffin Man’s sake, I gotta set the record straight. Or, well, gay.”

Oh great. A gay joke. Just what this situation needed.

“Enough, alright? We remember it differently; let's agree to disagree, and just leave it at that. I’m going home.”

“No, you’re coming to my house, and you’re gonna stop bitching until we get there.”

“And why the fuck would I do that?” I asked, pausing my attempt to pry his fingers from my shoulder so that I could really show my disdain as I rolled my eyes.

“Because, asshole. You've been spouting your bullshit so long you actually started to believe it. And I have something to show you. So shut up, man up, and come with me.”

"Fuck you."

"You can thank me later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the one hand, I worry that there's a bit too much vulgar language in this chapter. On the other hand, I've never known anyone to swear as much as teenage boys with no respect for authority, so... let me know what you think.
> 
> I gotta tell you, guys. 'Mt. Rushmore Or Less' really changed how this story was going to go. Originally I thought of having Cyrus being the one uncomfortable with coming out after TJ suggested it. But after One in a Minyan and Mt. Rushmore Or Less, I think it's super obvious that that would have felt out of character. Poor Mr. Kippen.


	3. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reed is a shitty friend, even when he says he’s trying to help.

When I was eleven, Reed and I wanted to see a movie. A very specific movie, though the actual title isn't important to this story. It was bloody, it was violent, there was supposed to be a frankly surprising amount of nudity—it was everything a boy could dream of. Unfortunately, with my brother off at college, there were no adults around who would help us achieve our goal. None of our parents would take us while it was in theaters—it was one of the few times I remember hearing Reed's mom say 'no'—and the homeless guy Reed tried to hire to pose as our uncle just ran off with the money. A dozen or so failed plans later, and the movie stopped playing without us getting to see it. We were pissed off until we weren't, and then I completely forgot about it.

Until about three months later when we saw it sitting on a sidewalk display of discount movies. Well, we didn't see it—Reed saw it. And he told me about it by very casually walking up to me after school one day and asking, "Hey, Kippen. Wanna learn how to shoplift?"

And—please don't tell Cyrus—that's exactly what I did. Reed was my best friend, the only one who let me cheat off his Math tests; I couldn’t risk upsetting him by saying no. At least that’s the excuse I used to convince myself. Reed was also, I quickly learned, a klepto on top of being a pyro and a psycho, and coached me on the finer points of the five-finger discount as we made our way to the store. Then he pointed me towards the rack of Blu-rays and he hid behind a corner.

Friendship.

The details of the crime don't matter. What matters is that I experienced the adrenaline high of doing something monumentally stupid—for all of five minutes. And then I started freaking out. I thought I hid it well, but Reed's snide remarks as we watched my illicitly gained goods seemed laser targeted at stoking my anxiety. I didn't even really enjoy the movie, the fear—and some guilt, I'm not a monster—were eating away at me as the action raged on screen.

Before the credits even rolled, one though crystallized in my mind, perfectly clear: I had made a terrible mistake. I had made a terrible mistake and allowed Reed to know about it—an even more serious offense. Not only was I risking real trouble just having the disk in my room, I also had to worry about my best friend spilling the beans—for revenge, blackmail, or just on a whim.

But I couldn't undo my crime. I couldn't ask for forgiveness—that would involve admitting what I had done. I couldn't even ask my brother for advice. And I didn't really want to give up the movie by just throwing it out. I only had one option. 

Hide it.

Hide it in the same place I hid everything: the empty space only accessible by removing the bottom drawer of my desk.

So I pushed my co-conspirator out of my room once the credits rolled, shoved the movie into my hiding place, and fell onto my couch, fully confident that the movie—as well as my criminal activity—were securely concealed from the world. I felt calm. I felt safe.

And that was my biggest mistake.

Because one should never feel safe when Reed is involved. And I shouldn't have been surprised when, two weeks later, I opened up my secret hiding place to discover the movie nowhere to be found, with over $100 of saved-up birthday money mysteriously gone as well. It was only after I calmed down enough to remember that Reed had just bought himself two new video games that I realized what must have happened. And that’s when I finally learned the most important lesson of all.

Always prepare for Reed to take it one step further than you're expecting.

Which is why I was surprisingly unsurprised when Reed fell into the chair in front of his computer, opened a folder labeled 'Barack Obama' and clicked on a file titled 'TJ Jan 29' before turning to me with a conflicted look on his face.

The only thing that really surprised me was that look. Reed never has internal conflicts.

"What I'm about to show you isn't pretty. I'd tell you to plug your ears, but that would sort of defeat the point."

"Why do you have a file about me in a folder called 'Barack Obama?'" I asked as I tried to get a better look at the other files. There were a few with my name on it, some with Lester's, and a couple other names I recognized but didn't know well.

"He was the most famous black male I could think of. Now foc—"

"Goddamn it, Reed! Are you seriously trying to blackmail me right now!" I shoved my chair back, secretly enjoying the loud screech the legs made as they slid across the floor.

"No!" Reed scoffed, a goofy smile on his face. "Well... yes and no. Yes in that this could—technically—be used as blackmail. But no, because I’m not showing you this in an attempt to blackmail you."

"You're not showing me this at all. I’ve got enough problems right now. I'm out." I spun on my heel and started making my way towards the door.

"Hold up, Top Jeff. Don't peace out just yet. This might just be the only altruistic thing you see from me for a while, bro. Don’t just pass on it." He casually spun in his chair as I hesitated.

"Please, explain to me," I paused, dragging my hand down my face, "how this is in any way altru—whatever?"

"I'm sacrificing one of my best pieces of blackmail for your benefit. That's pretty high up there on the moral scale for me, you and I both know that." He stopped spinning and winked as we locked eyes, not a hint of doubt or irony in his voice. That's the thing about Reed. He's smart, he's manipulative, and he seemingly lacks any real form of conscience. That much is obvious. But the thing that really gets me is that he's all of that and still one of the most self-aware people I have ever met.

The jury's still out on whether that makes everything he does better or worse.

"I'm not sure I want your charity..." I muttered, already giving up on any plans to leave the room. The look in his eyes as he brushed a piece of hair behind his ear revealed that he knew he had my attention. What can I say? If this was my chance to negate something Reed had on me and my chance to get my best friend to shut up, how could I say no?

"Then do it for Muffin Man," Reed rolled his eyes as he spun to face the screen. "He deserves a boyfriend who isn't disconnected from his own reality."

"Please don't talk about what my boyfriend deserves," shaking my head, I forced myself to walk back over and sit in the chair Reed had offered me when we entered his room. Might as well get this over with. Reed wouldn’t give up until I did.

"Whatever," Reed clicked, and the audio file opened up. "This is a copy of the secret recording I made the day I got you to admit you were bi."

I probably should have been more surprised by that.

"I'm so lucky to have you as a friend," I crooned.

"Yeah, you are. Anyone else, and this would just be a recording of some sappy love fest—"

"Anyone else wouldn't have made the recording, asshole."

"—but because I'm me,” he continued, unphased, “and I don't do sappy, we get something much more interesting." He paused, looking over his shoulder as the mouse hovered over the play button. Only as I watched his eyes scan me did I become aware of just how fast my leg was bouncing, of the fact that my hands were fidgeting with the pull string of my sweatpants. I immediately froze all nervous twitches that I could identify as I tried to send back a steely glare. If possible I didn't want my best friend and tormentor to know how elevated my heart rate was.

"And what would that be?" I asked, making sure to keep any weirdness—any weakness—from my voice.

After a few seconds, Reed turned around, apparently satisfied.

"The truth."

In retrospect, I knew exactly what would be on that recording. I just didn't want to know. If the way my stomach started somersaulting at the sound of my own slightly higher pitched voice was anything to go by, part of me already remembered how bad it would be. I wanted nothing more than to run from the room—or maybe destroy Reeds computer. But I couldn't let my friend know I was freaked out.

"Do you just record everything all the time or something? Are we being recorded now?" I asked—definitely not trying to distract myself from the younger versions of Reed and I chatting with each other about video games.

"That's absurd. I only record if I know something big is gonna happen. Now shut up and listen."

"No, first answer my question. Are we being recorded now?" I reached over and gripped the blond's upper arm, trying to make the action feel as menacing as possible. After a moment's pause, he sighed over the sound of a pretty embarrassing voice crack from younger me and reached into the top drawer of his desk.

"No. I'm not recording. But if it makes you feel better, then here. That's my recorder. You can hold on to that and prove to yourself it's not on." The device he shoved into my hand after he shrugged off my grip was a silvery metal rectangle, expensive looking and small enough to easily fit in a pocket with the microphone inconspicuously sticking into the world. I wondered how many times he'd had that on him while we hung out, and then gave up that dreadful line of thought and ensured that it was powered off. "Now listen up, we're about to get to the important part."

I heard a door slam through the speakers and knew that it was the door to my bedroom. I listened to the two of us chatting about nothing like we usually did, and it was like the more I listened, the more the memories trickled back into place. As I said, I don't think I had ever really forgotten about what happened that afternoon, but it was a lot harder to convince myself that I had once my brain started to fill in everything that was about to happen.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

"So what do you wanna do? GTA? Call of Duty? I swear if you try to make me watch 3 hours of Vine compilations again I will kick you in the balls so hard that your head explodes," I couldn't hear it, but I knew I was sitting in my desk chair, spinning around waiting for Reed's response.

"Mmm... nah. We can play Call of Duty. But if you wanna do something to my balls so badly I've got some much better ideas, T-gay." I don't remember how Reed's face looked when he said that, but I do remember my adrenaline spiking. It was pretty much a guarantee that my heart would go crazy whenever someone started throwing around the word 'gay' in those first few months after I realized I liked guys.

"Ew, you're fucking disgusting!" Shut it down—that was always my response. Shut it down and they won't have a chance to suspect a thing.

"That's not what your mom said last night." I do remember the shit-eating grin on the younger Reed's face as he fake-humped the air.

"Sorry I wasn't around to hear it, since I was out on a real date, with a real girl." It was a first date with a girl from Reed's school named Katie. She wasn't impressed with my attempt to eat four slices of pizza at once—stacked on top of each other, of course—a feat which always got a giggle out of Cyrus. There was no second date.

"I'm surprised you didn't hear about it over breakfast. Your dad seemed to enjoy it too." I remember thinking it was weird that Reed kept trying to bring everything back around to gay stuff. He'd been doing it all afternoon and it had made me incredibly anxious. I didn't realize until later that he'd suspected for days what he'd set out to prove that afternoon.

"Oh fuck please don't put that thought in my mind. I'm... I'm gonna—" a fake retching sound echoed through the speakers. Back in the real world, Reed looked at me with a semi-apologetic smirk and a shrug.

I strengthened my glare and tuned back into the recording.

"Really? I figured you liked older guys."

"What's that supposed to mean." Leave it to Reed to find a way to get me to engage. I knew I should have shut him down, but Reed has always known how to get under my skin.

"You know. Based off all those male models you started following on insta last... month? I dunno. They're all in their late twenties or something. Figured that was your type." Listening to the recording with a year of life between myself and that reality gave me a much better perception of what was going on. I could hear the practiced smoothness of Reed's voice that I’d missed when the whole conversation was going live. It was so clear that he had planned this all out. 

It didn't even matter, back then, that he was lying. His guess was close enough. I may not have followed a bunch of male models after realizing I liked guys but I did start searching for them and liking their pics and that was close enough to what Reed had just said to send my brain into a frenzy.

"What the fuck are you talking about." The nerves were obvious in my voice. My words sounded strained and my voice was almost too quiet for the mic to pick up.

"Dude, it's whatever," you could still hear the relaxed smile in Reed's voice, and I remember that pissing me off, "you like older guys—"

"Shut up."

"What, then what's your type? Twinks? Otters? Let me know if I'm getting the terminology wrong."

"Shut the fuck up, Reed." There was a creak on the recording and then a shuffling sound and suddenly my voice was much closer. "You have no idea what your talking about."

By this point, the memories were flooding back into my head. The emotions I had felt returned as well, especially the anger as I pushed Reed up against the wall and tried desperately to break through that stupid, shit-eating grin on his face.

"Woah, calm down, Kippen. It's all cool."

"It's not all cool," I felt a shiver go down my spine at how... dark my voice sounded. "You're spouting fucking bullshit and it's not fucking cool. Shut the fuck up and never say shit like this again."

"Dude, it's chill. I know you're gay. I don't give a—"

"You don't know shit!" Younger me was yelling now. It was like I could hear myself losing control of my emotions. It was disturbing. That was something I desperately tried to avoid nowadays, but I only learned how to avoid how to avoid it a few months ago. I had learned it for Cyrus. So I didn’t lose him.

"I know you've really got to learn to delete your internet history."

"Shut! Up!"

"What, was it supposed to be a secret? I seriously doubt I'm the first person to notice where your eyes wander to—oof!" I had shoved Reed against the wall because I couldn't stand to look him in the eye anymore.

"Shutupshutupshutupshutup...." It was like a mantra. It was my mantra. Shut it down, shut it out, shut it up.

"Dude, don't freak out. Clearly no one—"

"I said shut up!" My words were starting to sound wet now. I remember sitting on the floor, my back against the couch and being unable to look higher than my best friend's knees. "Please, please, just..."

"Dude what the fuck. No one gives a shit if you're gay."

"I'm not fucking gay." You could hear the way the tears dragged at my voice, turning what was supposed to sound angry and defiant into something pitiful. Begging. It sounded like I was begging... not to be gay.

Is that really how I felt back then?

I couldn't remember. But what I did remember was the pain I experienced as my best friend casually identified my biggest secret—the one I'd decided to take with me to the grave—and then proceeded to drag it out of me kicking and screaming. I remembered how exposed I felt. That even the secrets that I'd never told anyone weren't safe. I remembered that hurt and I remembered that pain.

Vividly

"Fine. Bi. Pan. Whatever. You like dudes and your internet history would make your mother faint." The soft swishing of Reed's jeans came through, and I remembered him walking to stand in front of me as I stared at his shoes. He must have had the recorder sticking just barely out of his pocket the whole time.

"No. No. Shut up. No. Shut up!" Another shuffling sound mixing with my attempts to sniff back tears. It was my attempt to stand up and my attempt to shove Reed away from me. 

"Okay, clearly you're having some issues, so I'm just gonna—"

"You can't tell anyone." I remembered holding onto the front of Reed sweater, my grip weak and my voice weaker.

"Fuck, dude, everyone probably already knows. Your mom, you bro, your friends? You're not exactly subtle with the staring."

"No, Reed, I'm not... Please. I'm literally—shit—I'm begging you, okay?" My words still sounded gummy and wet as I pleaded with my friend. Just hearing this all happen again was enough to bring tears to the corners of my eyes. "You can't... You can't tell anyone."

"Tell anyone what?"

In the real world, I glared at the back of Reed’s head. He didn't turn around from the computer. I would like to think it was out of shame, but that's a lot to expect from Reed.

"That I'm... I fucking like dudes, okay! I'm—I don't fucking know. I like girls, but I also like dudes and just—don't tell anyone. Please, Reed. This is... don't fuck me over for once."

There was a long silence, occasionally broken by my younger self sniffling and as he tried not to devolve into full-on sobbing while he freaked out. Finally, after what felt like ages, young-Reed broke the silence.

"Yeah, man. Shit. Your secrets safe with me"

"Shit, Reed, I'm serious. I can't—especially not my family. I can't. My Dad would... fuck." I listened to myself think about the reality of my parents finding out for the first time and was struck with just how similar it sounded to what I had just told Cyrus the night before.

"I won't tell anyone. I promise"

The recording ended there.

Reed's room fell silent. Even the birds seemed to stop singing outside the window.

"I was never really gonna use it as blackmail. I wasn't going to break that promise, TJ." The other boy continued to stare at the screen, not turning to meet my eyes. His voice sounded serious.

"Shut up, Reed." My brain and heart and stomach were a whirlwind of emotions. What I had just heard... it wasn't a surprise so much as an awakening. It made me scared. It made me sad. It made me angry.

Had so little changed over the past year?

"When you let people know about you two, who was the one who told everyone? Outside of me, were you ever even there when it to happened?" The answer was no. I had told Reed with Cyrus in tow, but I had let Cyrus tell Andi, Buffy, Walker, and Jonah without me there. I had never wanted to be there, though I told him it was because they were his friends. 

"Delete that. Right now."

"This isn't my only copy."

"Then delete all of them! Delete... just get rid of all your fucking blackmail, Reed. Be a normal person—a normal friend—for once in your fucking life. People don't do this kind of shit!" He finally turned around as I shook the stupid recorder in his face.

Reed's only response was to stare. Stare at me, an intense look on his face as I shoved the chair back with another agonizing squeak and stood once again. Stare at me as I shrugged on my hoodie and made sure I had all my things.

I took my time, despite wanting nothing more than to disappear from the world.

"I'm keeping this." I held up the silver recorder as I turned to face the door. I strongly considered slamming it into the ground but decided to hold off.

"You're welcome."

Reed had been right. Of course he had. He was always right. Or... I don’t know...

Shit.

"Go fuck yourself, Reed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please tell me what you think of my version of Reed. I think it’s becoming clear that a story from TJ’s perspective is a lot less warm and fuzzy than one from Cyrus’s...


	4. The List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So TJ's been having it rough. But how is Cyrus doing?

Right around the time the sun started getting low in the sky, I ended up at the swingset.

Raise your hand if that surprises you.

Well, maybe it's a little surprising, considering Reed's house is nowhere near that park and I'd stormed out of his room and jumped on my bike sometime in the early afternoon. I don't think I can really provide an answer as to what I was doing between Reed's door and my final destination, except to say that I spent a lot of it angrily shaking my head and thinking.

So... what? I'm a coward, now? Fuck that.

There's no way that was true.

Reed must have caught me on an off day.

Or it was because of the surprise factor.

But I'm not a coward.

And even if I was—which, again, I am not—what was I supposed to do about it? Come out? Just, like... go home, walk straight up to my Dad's office, and say, "Hey Pops, what's up? How's work? Did you know I'm dating a dude? What's for dinner?"

Yeah right.

Not that I didn't think about it, though. I considered proving Reed wrong—proving my old self wrong. Just get it over with. It's not like it could stay secret forever, right? Might as well get it done. No time like the present.

Except... that thought process never lasted more than a single block as I pedaled aimlessly through Shadyside.

I would tilt the handlebars towards my house and immediately be struck with this overwhelming dread, a desire to go anywhere else. Because, y'know, it was a stupid idea. Plus, I wanted to be anywhere but home—where my mom was likely waiting and my dad was likely not—which would usually mean Cyrus's house. But given the state of our recent communications, that didn't seem like the most pleasant option either. So I felt lost. Agitated. Confused. Pedaling around the town I knew like the back of my hand with no destination in mind. Nowhere else felt like the right place to be.

So, no. No surprise that I ended up at the swingset. Got a weird look from a dad swinging his three-year-old, but the kid flashed me a huge smile so it was all good. I started out swinging as high as I could—as hard as I could—as I distracted myself with the colors painted into the sky by the sinking sun, but by the time the parents had finished gathering all the screaming little ones littered around the park, I was mostly just sitting there letting the swing sway beneath me, it's gentle creaking the only other sound.

And as the park fell silent, my mind stopped being distracted.

What's my game plan—that's the question that my thoughts kept falling back to. Had anything really changed? Did I really need to change? I mean, what's wrong with wanting to keep my private life private? For whatever reason. That's a... a noble thing to want, right? That's a good enough reason to keep the secret if that's what I wanted. Which I did. So that sounded like a great plan in my head.

On the other hand, I could just man up, say 'screw you' to my... whatever, and tell everyone. Just to really prove I wasn't afraid. There was a part of my brain that liked that plan, too. It's just...

"I thought I might find you here." My boyfriend's voice was a pleasant—if confusing—surprise, cutting through the din of mental arguing that had filled my head.

"Cyrus?" My head snapped up in time to see Cyrus standing in front of me, a halo of the sun's dying light illuminating him from behind.

Gosh he's pretty.

"Hey. Mind if I join ya?" The smaller boy pointed at the empty swing next to me, a kind, soft look on his face. I shrugged.

"Wha... what are you doing here?" My words stumbled out of my mouth. For half a second, I wondered if this was one of those 'fate' things. My friends like to brag about coincidences that proved—no doubt in their mind—that they were meant-to-be with their current soon-to-be ex. I never really put much stock in it. But Cyrus showing up out of the blue, just as I was feeling confused and vulnerable sure felt... fateful.

"I heard you were having a rough day," he shrugged, playing at nonchalance as he settled onto the green plastic seat. Cyrus is great at many things, but nonchalance is not one of them. I knew he had something he was holding back as he began a gentle swinging motion. "You weren't responding to texts, so I figured you were either hiding from the world under your blankets or..."

"Well, what can I say?" I asked, copying his swinging until we were both swaying in gentle arcs. "I learned about this spot from you, and you have impeccable taste." I considered making a joke about our relationship being proof of that but held off. I wanted to use that one later, when moods were generally better. "But, uh... how'd you know I was having a, uh, yeah. A bad day, I guess?"

The brunet—who I was just realizing was wearing one of the many oversized hoodies he'd stolen from me—chuckled and slowed his swing until he had stilled to a gentle swaying.

"I got a, uh... very unexpected message from Reed saying just that." He explained, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "Along with a video of you standing in front of an exploding children's toy and him telling me to like and subscribe, so I have a feeling that I'm not fully informed as to what's going on."

"True."

"Since when do you help Reed with his videos?"

I winced taking a chance to evaluate my boyfriend's face for signs of another impending argument. He didn't look angry, though. Or sad. Or disappointed. Which was all good. He looked... open. Open to hearing me out.

"Since the one where he blew up a block of frozen Kool-Aid," I admitted. Okay, look—I may have been keeping my assistant directing activities from Cyrus, but I had a good reason. Well, an okay reason. I just didn't want him to worry! That's all! The boy has been raised to see the possibility of death in all things rebellious, he would have freaked out if he knew I spent time with Reed and high explosives. He didn't even like it when I set off fireworks for New Years!

Sure enough, I watched as a cavalcade of emotions played out on the smaller boy's face. His fingers twitched slightly for a few seconds as he tried and failed to keep a straight face.

"We will... talk about that—"

"Later?" I chuckled, slightly impressed that my over-anxious boyfriend had managed to keep himself from immediately going into a rant about me losing a finger. For the moment.

"One-hundred percent yes. But. Before that..." he took a second to shake his head and clear his throat, extending his hand in what I took as a peace offering, "Can we talk about why you're having a bad day? I imagine it must have been something big if Reed felt the need to reach out to me."

"He probably just wanted an excuse to send you that video..." I muttered, reaching out to intertwine my fingers with Cyrus's, silently cursing the small spike in adrenaline I felt when I touched my boyfriend. There was pretty much no chance anyone would be in the park that close to dark, I reminded myself. And his hands were always so warm, always fit so perfectly into mine.

"Teej..." I felt a squeeze as his fingers fit themselves into my grip. It was a 'come on' squeeze. A silent request for me to stop deflecting.

I sighed.

"I'm sorry for freaking out last night."

Cyrus didn't respond right away, turning to look up at the darkening sky as our hands anchored us together. It felt like a very familiar scene. The last time we'd been on these swings at nightfall, I'd similarly spent a lot of our time apologizing. That time, though, I was at the end of a world-class freak-out. Worried that, after spending days ignoring Cyrus and pushing him away, it was too late to ask for forgiveness. Angry at myself, frustrated with my insecurities, I had jumped head first into my apology, not even know what I was going to say until the words were spilling out my mouth.

This time felt significantly less fraught as the early-spring sun lowered itself behind the park's trees. Less cold. Less dark. I was more sure that at the end of this I wouldn't be... alone.

"I spent all day thinking about it." Cyrus finally broke the silence. "Literally all day. I woke up at like five this morning with this sudden... urge to write dialogue for a scene between two fighting boyfriends. I'm exhausted."

"You haven't done any of your screen-writing stuff since, like, the new year." I bit back my urge to point out that I didn't think what we were doing counted as 'fighting.'

"Yeah, and did you see the end result of 'Zombies, a Love Story'? I think my camera killed itself in protest. I needed a break." I couldn't hold back the laugh as I recalled the final take of Jonah and Buffy attempting to convey their undead affection through stilted, broken—and very, very rough—dialogue. It's amazing what Cyrus is able to convince the rest of us to do for him, sometimes.

He just has that kind of power over all of us, I guess.

"It wasn't, uh... absolutely horrible." I forced out as I tried to hold back the laughter threatening to bubble out of my throat.

"Yeah, right," Cyrus rolled his eyes, squeezing my hand again. "You have to say that. Well, whatever. It was at least bad enough to kill my muse. For a while, anyway."

Another soft silence fell on the swings for a few moments, as we sat there gently swaying in the growing dusk.

"So, how did today's writing session, uh... go?"

"It didn't last very long," Cyrus shrugged, giving my fingers another gentle squeeze. "I got distracted trying to come up with the characters' motivations. Eventually, I, uh... changed tactics. I ended up making a list."

"A list?"

"Yeah, a, uh... a list of all the reasons I could think of to explain why you reacted so... yeah. Reacted the way you did." I glanced over and noticed he was chewing at his lip while he stared at the sky. "Sorry about that."

"Why are you apologizing?" I asked quietly, softly kicking at the sand under my feet.

"I know you don't really like it when I, y'know... psychoanalyze you. I just—I couldn't stop myself from thinking today. I couldn't help it."

Another silence. Not comfortable, but not uncomfortable. Cyrus was referencing our third ever major argument—the current discussion about coming out was, I guess, our sixth. I didn't really try to keep track of these things, but it's sort of the way my brain works. I'm hard-wired to remember the times I fuck up.

"Is that why you didn't really answer me all day?" I asked, breaking through the quiet.

A look of guilt flashed across my boyfriend's face as he squeezed his lips together.

"That was part of it," he explained. "Also, I mean... I am—I was still upset with you. You were sort of a, um..."

"An asshole? Sorry—a butt?" I expected to see the tell-tale flinch from my boyfriend, but it never came.

"No, yeah, I was going to say asshole." Cyrus hesitated for just a microsecond before letting the vulgar language slip past his lips, marking only the third time I had ever heard him swear—that is something I was trying to keep track of. I was conflicted between treasuring the rare occurrence and fearing what it meant.

"Wow," I heard the surprise in my voice as my mind settled somewhere between the choices of amazement and dread. "I must have been even worse than I realized to drive you to such vulgar language."

"I mean, yeah TJ. To start, you interrupted me like... five times last night. You know nothing makes me feel more... isolated than when I don't get to talk—don't get to explain myself. That was the first time you made me feel like you just didn't want to hear what I had to say. It sucked."

"I... I'm sorry, Cyrus..."

"I know. I forgive you. I do. And... I think I get it? It was just... jarring."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. Cyrus seemed unsure where to go from there as well, as another silence passed between us. By that point, most of the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, and the street lights were beginning to turn on.

"We should probably get going," the smaller boy said, letting go of my hand and standing from the swing. "I hear a bunch of kids got trespassing charges a few weeks ago for hanging out here after dark."

"That just seems like a waste of police resources." I shook my head, using the small amount of momentum I had from the swing to hop onto the sand next to him. "Do you, um... do you think your Dad will mind if I come over for dinner tonight? I really don't feel like going home right now."

"You know my dad," Cyrus smiled as I walked over to pick up my bike. "He loves seeing proof that I have a functioning social life. Also, he—um, I mean... nevermind. I'm sure he won't care."

"Awesome."

We began the relatively short trek towards Cyrus's house, close enough for our shoulders to brush with every step. Each soft swish of our jackets sliding against one another was a gentle reminder of his presence. His support. It felt so good to have him there next to me. I wanted desperately to grab for his hand again.

"Don't think I didn't notice that you never answered my question," the other boy broke the comfortable silence as we reached the edge of the park. "Do you not want to tell me why today was a bad day?"

"It's sort of a long story," I scratched at the back of my neck, not really looking Cyrus in the eye. "Could we, like... put that on hold until after dinner? I'd really like to just walk with you right now."

"Yeah," his smile was soft and caring, and exactly what I needed to see at that moment. "C'mon, let's take the long way home. Dad isn't expecting me back for another twenty minutes."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"So this is the list?" I asked, flipping the crinkled piece of paper over in my hands as Cyrus jumped up to join me on his bed. We had just finished a delicious homemade meal of salmon and broccoli cooked by Cyrus's dad and I was feeling remarkably content. The portions were big, too. I was considering skipping my traditional midnight second-dinner.

"That's the list," the other boy confirmed, resting his chin on my shoulder as I unfolded the document he had just rescued from his trash bin. I settled in, resting my back against his chest as I smoothed out the wrinkles.

"He's cheating on me with a girl..." I read the messy handwriting of the first entry slowly, already unbelieving of what I was reading. "You can't seriously think that, Babe," I tried to convey how crazy an idea that was with my voice. I would never.

Full stop.

"If you read the subtitle," Cyrus's hand came around my side and pointed at the words scribbled under 'Why TJ Got So Upset' that I hadn't noticed, "it clearly says that these are from most impossibly outrageous on the top, to most likely on the bottom."

"Still," I was surprised at the feeling welling up in my throat. It wasn't anger, or sadness, or... I'm not sure what it was. But it felt really strong, and it made itself known as soon as I read those words. I already wanted to re-crumple the paper. "That... it hurts that it was even up for consideration, Cyrus. I would never do that to you. Boy or girl." I turned, shifting enough that he had to take his chin off my shoulder and return my look. I didn't expect him to look so ashamed.

"I know. I know, I'm sorry. I just... like I said, I couldn't stop thinking. It's not that I don't trust you—I swear, that absolutely not it. But my brain came up with all these horrible, like... alternate universe scenarios for why you didn't want to come out with me. I couldn't stop it. And I thought, I dunno, if I could write them down and get them out of my head, then maybe I could zero in on the real reason. And stop freaking myself out over things I knew—one-hundred percent knew—weren't true."

"So you don't really believe that..." I scanned the list again, "that 'Someone paid him to date me (a la 10 Things I Hate About You)'?" I tried to give him an even more skeptical look. I think I understood what he was saying, so I was trying not to be too hurt by all of this. But seeing this list sort of triggered my insecurities. I heard that little voice flare up again. The one that said I wasn't deserving of love, or friendship, or trust. Because I'm a horrible person.

So... that's depressing. Time to push past that with some humor!

"At least I got all the cliches out of the way at the beginning?" Cyrus offered, clearly hopeful that I would accept his implicit apology. Which, of course I would. Eventually. After I read a few more especially outrageous lines out loud to make him squirm.

"Is 'He's an alien, and doesn't want to draw attention to himself,' a cliche, or is that a Cyrus Goodman original?" I asked, trying to fight off the smile tugging at the edge of my lips. "Oh, and I see we stuck on that idea for a bit. 'His family is in witness protection, and he doesn't want to draw attention to himself.'" That deserved a raised eyebrow.

"Okay, okay, I get it. I shouldn't have thought those things, I'm a horrible boyfriend," as soon as that word escaped his lips, my eyes darted over to make sure that his bedroom door was closed—of course it was, it was second nature for us to close our doors when we wanted to be alone—and immediately I felt guilty about it. "And my ideas for character motivations clearly need work," Cyrus continued, trying to grab the list out of my hands. Taking advantage of my longer arms, I held the sheet of lies out of reach as my boyfriend struggled against me. Cyrus's growth spurt had luckily not invalidated my natural advantage when it came to Keep Away.

"Wait just a minute," I teased, trying to hold up the paper so that I could continue reading off the words while fighting him off. "You said you went from least to most likely. I want to see what you ended up with."

Cyrus struggled for the paper for a few more seconds, letting out an adorable whine-giggle that almost convinced me to toss the list back into the trash and tackle my boyfriend to the bed. Almost. Once the other boy gave up the fight with a sigh, I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before going back to scanning the list.

I don't know why I wanted to do it, but I felt this irresistible drive to read it to the end.

'He doesn't want other guys to know and start flirting with me.'

'He made a $1000 bet with Reed that he could keep our relationship secret from his parents for a full year.'

'Buffy made him promise not to come out while we were dating because she doesn't want people to think I can't do better.'

"That one's just mean," I pointed at the line about ten from the bottom.

"But it's very realistic for Buffy," Cyrus shrugged. Despite the light tone of his voice, his mood seemed to have dampened some from just a few minutes ago.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I asked, shifting on the bed to face him and reaching out to squeeze his knee. "I don't have to keep reading this if you really want me to stop."

"No, it's okay..." he said, chewing at his lip. "Just... promise you won't get mad at me?" he asked, his voice surprisingly soft. I watched as his hands began to play with the pull strings of his hoodie, unsure as to why he was suddenly so nervous.

"Of course I won't."

"Okay," he whispered, nodding. 

Way to put a damper on that party. Now I was starting to get nervous too.

'Religious thing,' I read, realizing I was starting to get into the potentially realistic options.

'Political thing.'

'His parents are a lot more homophobic than I realized.'

I looked up to take in the sight my boyfriend, sitting on the bed in front of me. He looked embarrassed again. Ashamed. He had no reason to feel that way, but he very obviously did. He's always worn his emotions on his sleeve like that. I wanted to tell him in a look, that everything was okay, but he didn't meet my eye. Instead, he stared at his lap, and I turned back to the page.

At that point, I just wanted to get it over with.

'He's embarrassed about being bisexual (internalized homophobia).' I sighed. I could see where he might get that. I'm sure plenty of guys didn't want to come out because they thought it was something to be embarrassed of. But I didn't. I don't think.

I shook my head.

Only one left.

"'He's just too scared.'" I read out loud.

"You don't..." Cyrus's hesitation extended into a full-on uncomfortable pause as his eyes, no longer on his lap, seemed to dance around the room. I knew that look. He was trying to figure out the exact right words to say.

"You don't have to tell me if any of those are right," he finally broke the silence. "You don't even have to tell me if I was close. Like I said, I wrote that list to help myself calm down. I know, whatever your real reason is, it's none of my business. Not unless you... want to tell me."

I looked back down at that final entry, and back up to my boyfriend—my supportive, understanding boyfriend. And I wanted to deny it. Like I had denied it the night before. I thought back to the recording I'd listened to. The painful memories of the first time I'd admitted out loud that I liked boys. The surge of fear—shit, it really was fear—and the absolute certainty that my life was over. That, as Reed had casually drawn out my secret, he was destroying everything I had built up about myself. I so desperately wanted to think I was past that. I wanted to believe that I had grown since then, that the fear wasn't inside me anymore.

I didn't want to be that scared, stupid boy.

But I was.

Fuck.

"No," I muttered, my voice quieter and shakier than I wanted. But honestly, what was the point of pretending to be strong at that point? I couldn't deny it anymore. I wanted to. I really wanted to. But it felt like Cyrus was staring right through me, right into my soul. I didn't want to lie to him. "You were right."

I handed the paper back to Cyrus and fell back onto the mattress, not wanting to have to look him in the eyes as I admitted the truth. Both to him and to myself.

"I was?" Cyrus's voice was unsure.

"Yeah," I tried to take in a deep breath. Calming myself down with methodical breathing was the one trick I had taught myself that actually seemed to keep me from going off the deep end. But this time it did little to calm the storm raging my chest, the emotions boiling away in my stomach. "I wanted to think I was, y'know, brave and that I didn't care, and that I was above all that... but yeah."

It only grew as the words fell from my mouth, the fear, the resignation, the confusion. It was going to make itself known.

"TJ..."

"I'm scared, Underdog." I shook my head. When had my breath gotten to shaky? When had my eyes gotten wet? Even as I felt Cyrus reach over and squeeze my hand, I couldn't look him in the eye. "I'm fricking terrified."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one took so long, peeps. Life's been crazy busy lately. I really hope you enjoyed this sweet Tyrus moment, provided by me.


	5. No More Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things don't happen at the pace we want them to.

As I rubbed at my eyes—refusing to let any tears fall for such a stupid reason—I felt the skinny, yet surprisingly strong, arms of my boyfriend wrap around my chest. My brain reeled due to my own admission, and world felt like it was spinning around me, but Cyrus was a solid, steady point of reference, and I latched onto him. In a perfect world, that was the right course of action—anchoring me to the world with his presence, making me feel safe. But we don’t live in a perfect world—as evidenced by my near constant screwups—so...

As Cyrus’s grip pulled me back to reality—out of the maelstrom of thoughts bouncing around my head, away from the sinking feeling in my stomach—I felt a surge of gratitude. The tight squeeze of my chest loosened some, and I couldn’t help but turn to stare into his deep brown eyes. I felt so lucky to have him with me. I could see a tidal wave of questions behind his eyes, waiting to be asked; worry, as well, filling his gaze. I could tell he was struggling not to let it all out, his lips pursed with the effort of keeping himself from asking. He’s so thoughtful about stuff like that—I could tell he knew, somehow, that I wasn’t ready to answer any questions. And as I tried to return the emotions in that stare, for a moment, I felt calm. I felt like it was just the two of us, alone in the world.

For just a moment.

Because we weren’t alone. And this world isn’t perfect.

“Son, I believe we agreed no more closed doors when—”

My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach in an instant as Cyrus’s bedroom door gently swung open. A switch flipped in my brain, panic mode activated, and suddenly everything that had been providing me with comfort and support became a source of intense fear.

We weren’t just close, we were too close. The private look we were giving each other wasn’t private enough. Having been behind a closed door wasn’t a protection, it made everything we were doing look suspicious.

Too suspicious.

“—friends are over.”

“Dad!”

I froze. Shit, I absolutely froze. And my mind went blank. And I... I fucking panicked.

It was like every muscle in my body was paralyzed except for my heart. My heart was beating faster than I had ever felt it.

Cyrus’s room suddenly felt small—too small. We were all too close together. Cyrus, myself, and his Dad.

I struggled to understand the look on Mr. Goodman’s face. It was calm? Maybe. Yeah. It was unbothered, it was nonjudgmental, but... Fuck, I just know in my gut that there had been an instantaneous flash of something else there first. Maybe surprise? Maybe anger. It had only passed over his face for a fraction of a second as the door had opened, and maybe I hadn’t even seen it with my own eyes, but I know it was there.

“Ah, I... well I seem to have also forgotten the rule about knocking. So... what do we say I let it slide this time, hm?”

There it was again. My awareness of my surroundings started coming back to me. Cyrus was still right next to me. But he had dropped his arms from around me—when did that happen? Thank god that happened. And then there was his dad, still standing a few feet away in the doorway. He was directing his question to his son, but his eyes flashed over to look at me every few seconds.

What did he see?

What did he know?

What... what the fuck was I supposed to do?

“Dad, I... we were just...” Cyrus was talking. Why was he talking. What was he going to say? A lie? That wouldn’t end well. I wanted to turn to face him, see how he was doing, try to communicate... something, anything with my eyes. But I couldn’t turn away from the figure of his dad standing in the doorway.

Shit.

Fuck.

His dad was looking at both of us equally now, switching his gaze from one scared teenage boy to the other as he waited for... something. His face was placid, casual with the practiced ease and nonchalance that could only come from years of asking his patients impossible-to-answer questions. And every time his eyes met mine, I felt like he was drilling into my soul.

Those eyes—they looked so much like Cyrus’s, and that was the only coherent thought I could focus on—I knew those eyes wanted something from me.

I needed to get away from those eyes.

“TJ was just—”

“—if either of you would like to go with me for some ice cream, then—”

“—telling me something in private, and—”

“I’m going home.”

The sudden burst of voices paused as I pushed myself up from the bed. I didn’t want to wait for a response, pushing forward as fast as my fear-stiffened muscles would allow. I forced myself to ignore the two pairs of deep brown eyes now entirely focused on me.

I couldn’t be in that room, that house, a second longer.

“TJ, wait! Don’t you—"

“It’s um... it’s late, Underdog. My mom is expecting me,” I lied, jaw stiff as I ducked under Mr. Goodman’s arm and into the hallway.

“It’s quite dark out there, TJ. Would you like me to drive you?” Cyrus’s dad called after me as I walked to the top of the stairs as quickly as my legs would allow. I could still feel his eyes on me. I could feel how much he knew. I could feel how much he wanted to know more. How much I didn’t want him to know. The thought of ten minutes in a car with him made my stomach twist.

“I have my bike,” I said, not turning around, continuing to power forward. "I, um... I'll be fine."

"Are you sure, son? It's no problem."

"Do you want me to walk you to the end of the block, at least?" 

I paused, already on the last stair when my boyfriend's voice reached my ears. I think that was probably the only thing that could've made me hesitate: hearing the worry in his voice as he looked down at me from the top step. I knew that if I took a second to turn around and look at his eyes, he might have been able to calm the storm raging inside my head. Maybe I would have been open to talk. Who knows, maybe I would have even been open to talking to his dad.

But that's not what I did.

Instead, I ducked my head, jumped down the last few steps, and darted out the front door.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

I don't think my brain comprehended the full extent of what I'd done until I was stashed my bike in my garage. I suddenly become aware of how alone I was, how dark it was, how badly I needed to just... breathe.

Holy shit.

This was the nightmare scenario.

Cyrus's dad had caught us. He had caught us in a very compromising position. If he hadn’t immediately known what he walked in on, it wouldn’t take him long to figure it out. To tell Cyrus’s other parents. To tell my parents.

To ruin everything.

But no. No. Stop freaking out, TJ. Think... think positive. It... it could it have been worse, right? Yeah. It definitely could have been worse—it very nearly was. Two seconds later and he likely would have walked into to me kissing his son and there's just... there's no way to really explain that. So we were, at the very least, one step away from the worst case scenario. Or at least the worse case I could think of that didn’t involve a severe lack of clothing. As it is, he walked in on a hug. A hug and a look.

So, yeah. This was... maybe it would be okay. I mean, friends hug, right? He had most definitely seen us hug before. That could be explained.

That could totally be explained. Unless... 

Unless I did the dumbest possible thing and made it obvious that this wasn’t just two friends hugging. Made myself look guilty. Something monumentally stupid like freaking out and running away as soon as he caught us.

Fuck! What the hell was going on with me!

I leaned against the wall of the garage, sliding down until I hit the cool cement floor. My brain was still reeling—struggling to understand what was going, what had happened. Struggling to understand what I was even thinking and feeling.

I felt scared. But I didn't want to feel scared. If there was an adult in the world who I would feel comfortable with knowing the truth, it would probably be Mr. Goodman. He had been nothing but kind and supportive to me since long before I started dating his son. He almost felt like a second—and much, much better—dad. And yet I was terrified.

Fuck! I was so scared that clearly my instincts had even glitched. My one marketable skill is supposed to be that I know how to react in a bad situation and what did I do? I took the one course of action that made what could have been just a simple hug between friends into something obviously more serious. I'm so fucking stupid. Why am I so fucking stupid. If I had just played it cool, acted like he'd stumbled upon nothing more than a normal everyday hug, this all could have been absolutely nothing.

But no. TJ Kippen is an idiot. And a coward. And a cowardly idiot. So I ran. I ran and in the process made it even more obvious that I was hiding something. Trying to hide something from a fucking psychiatrist, because I’m apparently the king of dumbasses. Meanwhile, Cyrus stayed cool and collected and...

Cyrus.

I abandoned Cyrus.

Shit.

What if...

What if his dad tried to have a 'Talk' with him. What his dad tried to get the truth from him, all because I made it obvious that we were hiding something. And I left him there. On his own.

There's no way he could keep our secret.

Wait. No. That's... shit, that's not what I'm supposed to be worried about. I should be there with him. I'm supposed to be there to with him—I’m supposed to support him. He’s my boyfriend, and...

Fuck.

Fuck!

For a second, I thought about what would have happened if I’d stayed—Imagined sitting there, Cyrus by my sided, telling his dad that the two of us were dating and had been for months—and it made my stomach somersault end over end.

I'm such a fucking coward. And what makes it even worse is that I can't even tell you why. I can't even answer that question for myself. I sat there, who knows how long, struggling to understand why I was so fucking scared even though I felt like I had nothing to be afraid of. I sat there until I felt my phone buzz for what must have been, like, the tenth time since I left Cyrus's house.

Sitting there alone, in the dark... wasn’t doing me any good.

'Be safe.'

'I talked to my dad. It's gonna be okay.'

'He asked if you were okay and I told him you were just going through a rough time, and were thanking me for some advice.'

'It's going to be okay, Teej. I promise.'

'Just please tell me you're okay.'

Fuck, even when I abandon him, he's still worried about me. I don't deserve him. I really fucking don't.

I responded the only way I knew how. The Kippen special: pretend that everything is perfectly fine. 'I'm fine, Underdog. Thanks. See you at school.'

Then there was a text from my mom, asking if I was coming home tonight.

A text from Reed, with a link to what was surely his completed Furby demolition video.

A text from Lester asking if I would help him hide a rotten egg in Reed's closet.

Everything checked out for a completely normal Saturday night. So why did the world feel so off its axis? 

I was just about to turn it all off—I didn't want to wait and see Cyrus’s response—when one more message came through. I really didn't want to care. I just wanted the whole night to be done—I was experiencing a wave of exhaustion on the level of the night Cyrus had come out to me—but this one was from the one person I could never ignore. Even when I was at my worst.

'Just booked my flights, Bro. Two weeks, can't wait to see that ugly mug of yours. Prepare yourself, bitch.'

The ever eloquent Brian Kippen. He was definitely, one-hundred percent coming home for spring break. It was exactly what I wanted.

But all I could feel was the pit in my stomach growing even larger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. Writer’s block is a bitch. Man this is turning into such an angst-fest. Poor TJ.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	6. Brotherly Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is a boy to do when he's just... absolutely freaking out? No, seriously. What's he supposed to do? If you have ideas, TJ is happy to listen.

The droning sound of the ring tone seemed to echo in the garage's silence. It had been months since I'd called Brian. Since Christmas. Longer—I was just realizing—than I had ever gone without hearing his voice. And, as I held my phone against my ear, I wasn't even sure what I was hoping to achieve by breaking that silence. I just knew, as soon as I saw his text pop up on my screen, that I had to talk to him.

It was a gut reaction. An instinct. If I'm in big enough trouble, I call my brother. And this, as far as my brain was concerned, easily qualified for 'big enough trouble.'

"C'mon... come on! Fuck you, you literally just texted me what the fuck could you be doing right now?" I muttered into the silent air. The ringing felt like it was lasting for far longer than what was reasonable. What, had he gotten rid of his fucking voicemail? 

"Hey! What's up—"

"Brian!" I winced at my voice cracking out of nowhere as I spoke over my brother. Why did I suddenly feel so out of breath? "Hey, what's uh... can you—"

"You've reached the voicemail of Brian Kippen. I can't make it to the phone right now, but if you leave your—"

I recoiled from the phone as if it had just branded a number pad into my face. Fuck, I hate my brother sometimes. Couldn't he just, like... magically know I needed him. Like brother-to-brother psychic connection?

Actually, scratch that, the idea of anyone being able to see into my head sounded... disastrous

I stared at the screen as if it had a chance to magically produce the answers to all the problems that were racing through my head. I could text him. After all, we’d always had more of texting-only brotherly relationship. Calls were reserved for holidays, birthdays... parental demands and the like. I hated phone calls and Brian did too, so I should probably stick with texting.

But there was another option. We had a, well, an unspoken—a not-really-codified—rule. I mean, it’d always sorta just been... true. But it was as close to a brotherly law as the two of us had.

Double calls always get answered. 

Because double calls are for emergencies only.

I wasn't sure if this counted as an emergency, though. Emergencies were supposed to be big. And this was big enough to have me pacing around my dark garage at... 8:47 at night, but was it 911-emergency big?

No. Or, at least, probably not. This was just me being stupid. A coward. And it's not like I wanted to tell him exactly what was going on, anyway. Texting would be enough. If I was lucky, he’d call me back, probably the next day, probably once I'd calmed down and didn't need him anymore.

I was gonna text him.

And then a message from Cyrus popped up on the top of my screen, and before I'd even recognized the resulting adrenaline spike, I had the phone pressed to my ear and the droning sound of ringing was filling my head.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings...

"Hey! TJ. What's up, man? Is everything okay?"

At the sound of his voice—his real, live, non-recorded voice—I fell against the wall in relief. The fire in my brain felt like it was being gently extinguished by a late-to-the-party, but still very welcome, fire extinguisher.

"Shit, Brian..."

"Hey, yo, language, bro!" I heard the ghost of a chuckle on the other end of the line. It felt good to hear, but something was missing. Or more accurately, there was something extra there. A whole lot of concern.

"Not you too," I wanted to groan and roll my eyes and let loose a string of filthy expletives, but my brain was too tired, too sluggish for that much excitement. "I get enough of that bullshit from Mom and Cyrus, I don't need it from the asshole who taught me 90% of the foul language I know."

"Oh, so I'm the asshole now." I could hear it in his voice, he was easing himself back into this brotherly banter, but he wasn't entirely comfortable with it yet. "Well, this asshole has a very pretty lady waiting on me to get back to our dinner date, so..."

"So... Hannah's still putting up with your shitty cooking?" I tried to joke. I didn't have to be a genius to understand what he was getting at—he wasn't looking for a long drawn out brotherly chat. He had places to be. But still... I don’t usually admit this stuff, but I was enjoying just hearing his voice again. It was deeper than mine, but only by a bit. Not nearly as deep as you would expect if you were guessing based off his massive frame. And every word that came through the line calmed my heart rate just a bit.

"My cooking," his voice raised slightly, and I could hear him getting more comfortable, "can still blow yours out of the fucking water, young padawan." I scoffed. "But, if you must know, Hannah requested we go out tonight..."

"Uhuh. I get it."

"And my steak came out right when you called..."

"Ah." I felt the ghost of a grin tugging at my lips. It was always a bad idea to stand between a Kippen and their food.

"Yeah," Brian sighed, clearly confident that I understood the situation. The subtext. I may not be the best at it, but my brother’s not exactly subtle. I knew our call was coming to a close.

I just... didn't want it to.

"So..." I drew out, trying and failing to quash down the little part of me that was hoping to keep the conversation going. I mean, it had been almost three months, surely he had something he wanted to mention?

I tried to think of something, anything I could say to keep him on the line. But the only ideas my stupid brain would come up with all had to do with Cyrus, and that just...

Not yet.

"So..." I heard the faint sound of a deep breath from the other end of the line. "Asshole to asshole, you wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Who says something's going on? Maybe I just wanted to tell you to get ready for me to beat your ass in one-on-one when you come home." I glared at the ceiling. Great. I sounded like a bratty child. Just... great.

"Sure you did.” Doubt filled his voice as he let out another long sigh. “I'm gonna ask you one last time: is everything okay? Dad's staying off your back? No trouble with the... the police or anything?"

Looking away from my phone, I swore quietly into the wall. I could tell I was about to lose him. And the only way I could think of it keep that from happening was to tell him exactly what was going on and... no. I was not about to come out to my brother over the phone. Just thinking in that direction made my breath get short and choppy. But what else could I say? I couldn’t even come up with a good lie. It's not that I didn't want to waste his time, but I just...

"Nope," I cringed, leaning into the lie. "Everything's fine."

"Alright, well... I mean," I heard another deep intake of breath. My brother's not an idiot. In fact, he's too fucking smart. This was right around the time when I began to realize that just by calling like this, I had made it obvious to yet another person that something big was going on with me. Clearly, he knew something was up. Staying quiet probably only worried him more. I could hear it in his voice. "You sure?"

The silence in the garage was deafening. Waiting to be filled with the truth.

I let out a sigh.

"Yeah... I'm sure."

Another moment of heavy silence passed over the call. I waited to see if he was going to push me any further. But... that's not really the kind of brother Brian is.

"Well. In that case... I really should get back to Hannah. If I don't hurry, y'know, she will absolutely eat my steak out of spite." It was a lame joke, but I laughed. My brother was always pretty good at coming up with excuses.

"Yeah."

"See you in two weeks?" I heard movement on the other side of the phone, probably Brian walking back into the restaurant.

"Yeah. Two weeks. Kick your ass then." As the call headed towards its natural end, I felt the pit in my stomach start to reestablish itself. It had been a nice—maybe, what... two minute?—reprieve from my state of panic, but it seemed like it wasn't going to last. I needed something. I needed...

I had an idea.

"Alright. Adios T—"

"Wait. Brian?"

Another moment of silence passed. I heard a sigh. I could imagine my brother dragging his hand over his face in frustration. Oh well. Tough shit for him.

"What's up, bro?"

"How did you get me to stop being scared?" I'm not sure where the question came from, but as I said it, it felt like my brain was... hooking onto an idea. Like it was something important. And I didn't want to wait two weeks to get an answer.

"Scared? What do you mean scared?" Brian was confused—welcome to the party, bro—but at least he hadn't hung up on me.

"When I was a kid, and wanted to watch scary movies with you." I thought back to childhood weekends spent climbing onto the couch next to my horror-obsessed brother, chomping on popcorn, and watching the goriest, ugliest, scariest movies he could get his hands on. "How did you... like, did you ease me into it, or use psych tricks to train me or whatever? To stop me from freaking out every time we watched something? What'd you do?"

"Uh... I didn't do shit, Teej."

"What do you mean you didn't do shit. I know the first time you let me watch with you, I couldn't even make it through the whole movie. Eventually, it wasn't an issue, though. Right? You had to have done something."

"Nah, man. I didn't do anything. Don't you remember? Once you made it... very clear that you planned to join me every weekend, I gave you the option of going easy on you for a few weeks. You were having none of it. Got pissed that I would even suggest it. You wouldn't even let me hide your eyes for the really bad stuff."

"Seriously? Shit." I rubbed at the side of my face, feeling like I was facing another dead end. I had been hoping for some secret, some way to trick myself into... I dunno. Not being scared anymore. At least, well... not being scared of coming out?

So much for that faint line of hope.

"Yeah man. I admit... I was sorta impressed. Seven-year-old you was annoying as fuck, but you had balls. You decided to tough it out, and shit... like a month later you could handle the worst back-to-back double features I could put together without making a peep." I sort of make out my brother's scoff on the other end of the line. The level of background noise had gone up over the last few seconds, which meant he had already stepped back into the restaurant. He was definitely about to hang up on me.

"You swear you didn't do anything?" At this point, I was willing to believe in hypnosis or literal magic if it meant getting my brain to stop freaking out every time I barely thought about seeing Cyrus's dad again.

"Nah, bro. It was all you."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

'You should watch the video.'

A new message from Reed was waiting for me when I awoke from an incredibly restless sleep the next morning.

'I bet you $50 it's not what you think it is.'

Ignoring my bastard of a friend's his unnecessarily cryptic message in favor of my growling stomach—and definitely not trying to ignore the still-unread message from Cyrus—I padded downstairs and made myself a bowl of cereal. A simple morning plan.

It should have been so easy.

"TJ."

I felt the muscles in the back of my neck tense up as my Dad looked up from his weekend newspaper to acknowledge me. Even sitting, he seemed to tower over the dining room table—like an obnoxiously tall, lanky king on his throne, passively reminding you that everything you could see belonged to him. Despite the lazy Sunday morning scene of him and my sister enjoying a late breakfast in front of the window, he was dressed in a crisp blue button-up. Top two buttons undone. Freshly ironed slacks.

I grunted a greeting in his general direction and tightened the drawstring on my pajamas.

"Your mother said you were out quite late last night."

Five minutes. There's no way I had been awake for more than five minutes, and my dad was already getting on my case. Exactly what I needed after a night of pretty much no sleep.

"Yeah, uh... sorry about that. Guess I lost track of time." Without looking in his direction, I poured a bit too much milk in a bowl of cereal and made my way over to the table, slumping into the seat next to Sally. She briefly looked up from the page of comics she was inspecting, but her normally overly-chatty mouth stayed quiet for once.

"And where were you?" my dad asked, voice laced with judgment and withheld accusations. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right? Perfect time for an interrogation.

I didn't look up from the table. When given the option I try not to look my dad in the eyes too often—something about how it's bad to stare directly into pure evil. Unless I'm actively in trouble he usually doesn't care enough to make me. Luckily, that makes rolling my eyes a lot easier to accomplish without getting yelled at.

"At, uh... at Cyrus's. He—I mean, his dad made us dinner. You can give him a call if you want." I wanted to keep my voice as neutral as possible, but from the sound of my dad clearing his throat, I had a feeling that my nerves and exhaustion had thwarted my goal. Being too tired tends to make me sound more... sarcastic than I want.

"Right," my dad took a sip of his morning latte as Sally tapped my foot lightly under the table. I glanced up just in time to see her shoot me a 'be careful' look before returning to her Sunday funnies. "I should probably pay that man's grocery bill someday," my dad continued. "Based off what you can do to our pantry, I'm sure you clear them out on a weekly basis. You're certainly over there often enough."

In all honesty, I was surprised he paid enough attention to have any idea how often I was... anywhere.

I let my eyes lift slightly to take in the image of my dad. His thin frame was looked perfectly at ease as he took another loud sip of his coffee, but his face, somehow, rode the line—simultaneously tense and relaxed in a way that made it impossible to know what he was about to say next. Impossible to know why he'd said what he just said. And that's the thing about my dad: you can never tell by looking at him what's going through his mind. Or, at least, I can't—Sally always seemed to have a nose for when he was in a bad mood, but I've always been pretty much in the dark.

And it's stressful as fuck.

If I run into him around the house, I never know if he's gonna give me my allowance, or find a way to blame me for world hunger.

My mom once told me that, as an entrepreneur, my dad was really nothing more than an uber-successful door-to-door salesman—just that those doors he knocked on tended to belong to investment bankers and hedge fund managers. And as a salesperson, he had mastered the ability to always make you feel like he's always on the edge between being the friendliest guy on Earth, or ten seconds away from ripping your guts out.

Her words, not mine. 

I think she was trying to be motivating.

"Mr. Goodman doesn't mind," I muttered, pushing a particularly large cornflake aimlessly around the bowl of milk. I said it as much for myself as for my dad. I wasn't a burden. Right? Cyrus's dad had assured me multiple times that I was to treat their house as if it was my own. And besides, I never let myself snack too much when I was over there. And I never let myself get a third serving of dinner, even when it was offered to me. There was no way Mr. Goodman was upset with me.

At least... not until last night.

"Of course, that's what he says," my dad paused, taking another loud, slurping sip of his latte. Truly, it was unnecessarily loud. He was just doing it to piss me off. To get to me. And I could feel it working. "But let's try not to impose too much on their hospitality, TJ."

"Dad, I—"

"And, more to the point, I don't want to have to hear about you worrying your mother again. Staying out late, doing God knows what... I swear, I give you freedoms, and it's like you're begging me to take them away again."

I glared at my cereal bowl. I knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get me to apologize. And that was really pissing me off.

So I stayed silent.

And he stayed silent in response. Waiting for me to give him what he wanted.

I had nothing to apologize for. We both knew that I didn't really have a curfew. My dad liked to joke that there was nothing I could get up to in Shadyside worth making me come home for. But he was just trying to find something to pick at. So I kept my mouth shut.

I mean, believe me, I wanted to say something. But even I'm able to recognize when failing to hold my tongue would lead to an absolute disaster. So we sat there, the silence growing thicker and thicker as we both tried to pretend that it wasn't on purpose.

"Mom said Brian bought his tickets last night," Sally piped in, overexcited voice trying to break through the awkwardness while simultaneously pretending it didn't exist. "I feel like it's been ages since we saw him."

"Knowing your brother, he probably found the cheapest flight known to man," my dad chuckled, and the tension began to ebb from the room. "You know he always ends up sitting next to some crack job. Conspiracy theorists, hippies... Bet he'll have a hell of a horror story when he gets here at... Hmmm. I'll bet 3:30 in the morning."

"It's lucky he's able to come down at all," Sally continued, shoving her paper to the center of the table. Without looking up from my breakfast, I gently nudged her ankle with my foot. A silent gesture thanks. Who knows where things would have gone if she hadn't broken that silence. I definitely owed her. "I honestly figured a school in rural Alaska wouldn't even have a spring break."

"True," my dad mused, folding his paper in half and flipping it around. "Maybe they didn't have a lot of snow this winter."

"Mmm... Brian said they had a white Christmas, remember?" 

"Huh. Right. Well, who knows. You can ask him when he gets here." With a cheery grin, my dad folded his paper, tossing it into the center of the table with the comics. The difference in his tone was stark but unsurprising—Brian has always been his favorite topic.

"Guess missing out on our usual Spring trip was just a... a blessing in disguise," Sally said in a sing-song voice before taking another bite of her yogurt. "He probably wouldn't have been able to come with us if we went anywhere else."

"An impressively optimistic point of view, young lady. How refreshing." My dad stood up and went over to the coffee machine, pressing the buttons to input his usual drink. "Well, since TJ's school changing their break schedule kept us from a proper, traditional Spring trip, optimism is just what I want to hear. And you're right. This is a pretty good backup. I've got a few things I've been wanting to talk about with Brian in person." I could hear the faint smile tracing on his lips and felt my heart twist. Just a little bit.

I wondered if he was lying. My mom had said we weren't traveling because of his work schedule, but...

Was that was the truth? Or had she just been trying to protect my feelings? I guess I shouldn't be surprised if it was actually all my fault, somehow. I bet Dad had been waiting for me to complain about the lack of travel before dropping his version of events.

"I'm done." I said, my voice as emotionless as I could make it. Without waiting for a response, I pushed back from the table as quickly as I could.

"Dish in the dishwasher." My dad called after me.

Not having enough energy to disobey for the sake of disobeying, I followed his order before running back up to my room.

Frustrated, angry, upset, tired... I needed to distract myself. Reed's messages sat there at the top of my phone, promising, at the very least, a distraction.

Fuck it. I had no legitimate excuse to put it off any longer.

I pulled up the video he had sent the night before. It was shaky, and the lighting wasn't very good, and immediately I realized that it was not an image of a children's toy about to be destroyed by high explosives. So he was right that it wasn't what I expected. Instead, I recognized the other boy's room—his desk, and his computer appeared to be the focus of the image.

"This one's for you, Tyrion Jannister," the slightly distorted voice of my friend played through my phone's speakers as the image on the screen adjusted to the light of his computer monitor. I watched the slightly shaky, overly saturated footage as the mouse moved over to a folder on his desktop. He 'zoomed in,' the image shaking as he clearly just moved his phone closer to the screen until I could make out the words under the file spelling out 'Barack Obama.'

The image retracted so that I could see his whole screen again as he quickly dragged the folder to the trash bin, and then deleted it. With a final shakey spin, he turned the camera on himself and flashed me the biggest, goofiest, shit-eating-est grin he had.

"I know you're smart enough to know that seeing me do that doesn't actually mean shit, but... it seemed appropriately theatrical. Anyway... it's all gone man. Promise. Reed is going 100% blackmail free. Cold turkey. Hope you're not still crying like a baby over some non-existant betrayal of our friendship. Right? You're not, right? Nahhhh, we're good. Alright, well... see ya later, bro."

And then the video ended.

Goddamnit.

I didn't even care that this was probably just him manipulating me into doing something for him. Or a lie. Or both. As far as Reed goes, that was... astonishingly sweet.

I actually started to tear up.

Maybe my emotions need to get their shit together—whatever he had really done there, it wasn't that nice.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, I found myself listening to the obnoxious droning of a phone ringing. As ring after ring echoed around my skull, I was reminded of just how much I hated actual phone calls. Just when I was about to give up and send a reasonably-sappy text, there was a click and a voice.

A voice pretending to have a really shitty Spanish accent.

"Hello, you've reached the number for Sex Gods Unlimited. Where your fantasies are waiting to become... a reality. My name... is Raymundo. Tell me, what... are you wearing..."

"Well, this was clearly a mistake."

"Woah, hey there Tom Juise... no, y'know what? I heard it as soon as I said it. Anyway, sorry 'bout that. Coulda sworn this was my, uh... work phone..." Reed's normal voice, sounding clearly pleased with himself, trigged an eye roll from me.

"Goddamnit you're such an idiot," I muttered, not caring if he heard me or not.

"What's up? You watch my video? Not quite up to my normal quality standards, but I figured you'd like it."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I watched it. I believe it about as much as a Fox News exposé on Climate Change, but I watched it."

"Good, good... So yeah. What's up. Feeling any—"

"Okay. Sorry, I just... I'm having a, um, really weird weekend. So I'm just going to... yeah. Just gonna cut to the chase, here. Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?" His voice sounded innocent, and what was absurd was that we both knew he was faking it and yet it still sounded so real.

"Delete all your... shit. And send a video. And just... yeah what the fuck are you and what did you do with Reed."

"Ahh... That. Yeah. Well, how much time you got?"

I looked out the window at the sun, still pretty low in the sky, and tried not to think about the still-unread text from Cyrus.

"All day, I guess."

"Hm. You still got my recorder-thing?" I looked over my shoulder, at my pants from yesterday, lying where I'd left them, strewn messily in the middle of my floor. The silvery metal recorder poked out of one of the pockets.

What? Don't judge. Cyrus hadn't slept over at my house in weeks. I had no need to keep things tidy.

"You mean," I cleared my throat, "MY recorder-thing? Yeah. I still have it."

"Well... I've still got another stick of dynamite lying around here."

"Of course you do."

"You feeling up to another trip to the quarry?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, TJ's sort of angst is so much more difficult to write than Cyrus's angst in PSM. All I wanna do is fix everything for him and tell him it'll all be okay. But that would be too easy.


	7. Scorched Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reed and TJ reconnect. Maybe friendship, unseasonable heat, and high explosives will lead to good things. That's always been the case in my life.

The sun was high in the sky by the time my bike skidded to a stop on the loose gravel of the quarry. The day had become unexpectedly hot for the early spring. Basketball shorts and a thin T-shirt had been the only viable option. It was even too hot for a short-sleeved hoodie.

I was late. I mean, I'm almost always late to... everything, but I was significantly later than is usual for me, because my dad had interrupted my attempt at a quick escape with a list of chores that felt like it was his attempt at a 'fair punishment.' Considering it involved cleaning things, my mom was probably involved in its creation as well.

Clean the kitchen, mow the back yard, water the plants.

Oh, and hand over your phone until you've finished everything so that you use the time to think about the meaning behind freedom and responsibility—because that makes sense.

As a result, I was an hour and a half late and pretty well drenched in sweat before I'd even jumped on my bike. But I wasn't too worried. Reed, for all his multitude of faults, is a remarkably patient guy.

A quick scan from the edge of the quarry revealed that it wasn't as empty as it had been the day before. A gathering of older teens riding dirtbikes in the far corner spelled out bad news for Reed's explosive intentions. At the opposite end of the large squared-off expanse, near a collection of larger rocks and boulders, a man and woman were dressed for a wedding—full-on tuxedo, long white dress, even some flowers—they stood with another, normally dressed guy doing... something. I didn't pay them too much mind. It took a few more minutes of searching before I noticed the solitary blonde figure resting on a flat rock along the edge a few hundred away feet from me.

"Why is your shirt off?"

Reed, who had been lying half-naked on the boulder, staring straight up at the sun for who knows how long, pushed himself up onto his elbows and turned his head to face me. A pair of fashionable sunglasses stopped me from making out whatever frustrated glare his blue eyes were sending me, but the smirk on his face was enough to tell me he was about to say something that he thought was genius.

"Soccer season's going full-throttle now. That means pick-up games, and that means shirts vs. skins. Gotta build up the base tan to give the cute spectators something worth watching."

"Gonna build up the skin cancer, more likely." I squinted at the boy in front of me as he settled back down onto the rock, placing his hands behind his head and exposing even more skin to the blisteringly hot sun. Reed has always been, unfortunately, in pretty good shape. Skinny, but like a lot of guys our age, he was starting to put on some muscle. In fact, if he worked out diligently for the entire soccer season, there was a good chance he'd end up with a six-pack by the start of the summer. Which he would definitely never stop bragging about and showing off. Luckily, the only thing he knows how to be diligent about is being a complete asshole.

"Well, I'm gonna die one way or another. Might as well go out because I'm just so damn sexy." I rolled my eyes and decided not to make him aware of the beautiful shade of red that had begun gracing his shoulders. Instead, I made a mental note to let Lester know where he could give our friend the most painful possible back rub the next time they were together.

"So is Lester joining your plan to, what, get yourself a gaggle of cheerleaders and onlookers? Or are you just gonna make him jealous?"

"Neither. Though, the last time he tried to tan with me, he just ended up with a sunburn and covered in an adorable ocean of freckles. Which he hated. So he'll probably end up jealous of how amazing I look when I'm bronzed like a California surf god."

"Your humility truly knows no bounds, Reed."

I shook my head, kicking at the dusty rock as I took another glance around the edge of the quarry. It was just us, the bikers, and the wedding party. And the sun beating down on us all like it was the middle of Summer. Fuck climate change.

"What have I got to be humble about?" Reed muttered, shimmying into a more comfortable position on the boulder.

I stopped my scanning and took a few seconds to just... stare at my friend. His floppy blond hair splayed out on the rock beneath him, his feet tapping to some tune playing only in his head. There wasn't an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. With a sigh, I lowered myself onto the stone and wished I had thought to bring a hat.

"No. You're right. You are absolutely perfect, and we should all strive to be just like you in all facets of our being."

"That's what I've been telling you for years!" the other boy reached out and lightly slapped my thigh. "Glad you're finally getting with the program, Troy Jolton."

A comfortable silence fell between us, breaking only momentarily as Reed turned to expose his back to the sun. It was already pretty red, but I couldn't tell if that was from an earlier exposure, or from being pressed against the rough, sun-warmed rock.

Either way, I once again opted not to warn him of just how bad his sunburn was going to be.

Maybe to an outside spectator of my life such as yourself, this would be considered weird. The two of us sitting in a comfortable silence one day after I stormed out of his house wanting nothing less than to never see him again. But this was not the first time Reed and I had fought, and I seriously doubted it would be the last. When we were younger, it was usually about stolen toys. The past few years we had upgraded to moral dilemmas and betrayals, but, regardless of the cause of the spat, this was how we handled it. Once the anger had passed and the issue was settled, once we were both ready, we just slipped back into our normal flow, as if nothing had ever happened.

"What do you think they're doing over there?" I asked a few minutes later, right as a large, fluffy, lonely cloud blissfully moved in front of the sun. With a quiet grunt, Reed pushed himself up to sit beside me, following my finger as I pointed to the wedding couple.

"Looks like a photo shoot," the blond shrugged, squinting at the couple far in the distant corner. "Probably pre-wedding pictures, or something."

"Why the fuck are they doing a photo shoot in an abandoned rock quarry?" I asked, scratching at my neck.

"I dunno." Thankfully for his soon-to-be-miserable skin, the other boy grabbed his shirt from the top of his bag and shrugged it over his head, wincing slightly as the cotton settled onto his shoulders. "Maybe their wedding theme is 'Scorched Earth.' Y'know, getting all their guests ready for the reality of climate change? Pretty socially responsible, if you ask me."

"Or... maybe they're doing a destination wedding in the Sahara desert," I offered, tossing a piece of gravel from hand to hand. "And this gave them the best comparison for their invitation pictures."

"Or the groom's great-great-grandfather owned this quarry, and he's trying to connect with his past. I mean, someone had to own this place at some point, right?" I shrugged. "It's not like Shadyside city government put this place together specifically so that us wayward teens would have a safe place to cause chaos..." I gave Reed a skeptical eye-roll as he pushed his sunglasses onto his forehead and got a far-off look in his eyes.

"Reed, no."

"Shush," he held up a finger almost pressing it to my lips, except that I immediately leaned away. Who knows where those hands had been. "I think I'm on to something here..."

"Anyway..." I loudly cleared my throat, batting the other boy's hand away and turning back to stare at the couple. I watched as they embraced in front of their third friend, imagined them plastering big, cheesy smiles on their faces. I bet they were feeling totally confident in their life choices. "Shit, I bet they're doing a Star-wars theme wedding. They're pretending this is Tatooine."

"I've never seen a Star Wars, and you know that." Reed shook his head, slapping my shoulder. I was relieved to hear that I'd snapped him out of his conspiracy theorizing for the moment. "Ooh! I've got it. They're doing a Burning Man themed wedding! Oh shit, do you think they'd be down if I offered to set up the explosion for the background of their shot?"

"Who the fuck is Burning Man?"

"That's just sad, man." I swiveled my head around to see Reed shaking his head slowly while wearing a sly smirk. "When you're old enough to experiment with hard drugs, I'll tell you."

"Oh, fuck you! Like you've ever done anything worse than swiping that bottle of champagne during New Years. And how'd that end up? Oh, right. With you puking in the yard like the little bitch you are."

"Fine, fine." I saw a glimpse of an eye-roll before the sunglasses dropped back down to cover his exasperation. "Then when we're both old enough to experiment with hard drugs, I'll tell you."

"Miss me with that drug shit. I don't need another reason for my parents to be suspicious of me." I let out a hollow laugh, turning completely away from the wedding couple, as well as the sun that was starting to peak past the cloud again. "They already definitely think we're out here smoking pot or something every weekend. Every time I come home from the quarry, my mom hugs me and I can hear her trying to smell the evidence on me."

"Aw, man. Poor Mrs. K, having to get a big whiff of your B.O. every time you come home. The scent of pot would probably be a relief."

"Well tough shit for her," I grunted, rubbing at the back of my neck. It was already starting to feel overly hot, the still air giving me no escape from the sun's torture. I glanced Reed over and was relieved to see that he had already started sweating through his shirt. For some reason, I always worry that I'm the only one sweating when it's so astonishingly hot. As my friend ran a hand through his hair, I surreptitiously sniffed at my pits. I dunno what Reed was talking about, I smelled like a fucking angel. New body spray and everything.

"I'm like... ninety-seven percent sure my Mom smokes sometimes when she goes out with her friends," Reed wondered aloud, shaking his hair until it flopped back into place. "I definitely saw someone pull out a vape pen during their last wine tasting party."

"Fuck, that's weird. That would never happen with my mom."

"You sure? Our parents tend to be surprisingly human when they think we're not around." Reed pulled out his phone and started scanning through something.

"Nina Kippen, pro athlete? Never. Maybe if it was, like... organic, pesticide and GMO-free, and came with 21 grams of protein. Even then. She caught Brian smoking with a friend the summer before he left for college, and I swear it was like the fucking apocalypse came down on our house. I'd never seen Brian in so much trouble."

"Oof. No wonder B-man never comes home."

"Nah. He stays away because, when you escape a fucking prison, you don't just... go back for fucking wellness checks." I shook my head. "Though, saying that, I'm realizing that I haven't told you the good news: Brian's gonna be down here for spring break this year. Guess he couldn't stay away for ever."

"Oh shit, that's awesome! I haven't seen your bro since he left for Princeton."

"Yeah, he'll be here in two weeks."

"Damn... well, since we're on the subject, do you think he would... y'know. Hook me up with some dank, uh... Mary Jane?"

"God, you are such a basic white boy," I rolled my eyes.

The next lull in our conversation didn't last long. Soon, Reed was showing me a Fortnite compilation video on his phone, and by the time I looked up again, the wedding party was gone.

"How much longer do you think they'll be there?" Reed asked, nodding towards the teens still racing their bikes in loops around their corner of the quarry.

"Dunno. Looks like they're having fun, though. We should do that next weekend if it doesn't rain."

"Dirtbike? Hell yeah. Why's it been so damn long since we did that?"

"Well, I feel like it was freezing until, like, two weeks ago," I explained, standing up to stretch. Unexpectedly, Reed stood up at the same time, grabbing his bag before making his way down from the boulder we had been sitting on for the past hour. Apparently, we were moving. "Uh... right. And yeah. Plus, I'm pretty sure the idea terrifies Cyrus."

"I bet if you and I work together, we could convince Muffin Man to try it out." There weren't many places in the quarry with shade cover, but I realized that Reed was leading us towards a large rock with a bit of an overhang. Oh, thank god. "Plus, Lester'll definitely want to come. We can make it... I dunno. Like a double date thing..."

"Yeah, sure, might as well try. What's the worst that could..." As much as I wanted to reach the shade covering only a few yards in front of me, I stopped, frozen in my tracks. It had taken a few seconds, but Reed's words—and the meaning behind them—finally clicked together in my head. "Wait."

"Exactly, what's the worst thing that—"

"Did you say date?"

Reed turned around as he reached the shade, an exasperated look on his face as he glared at me from his dark oasis.

"Yes. I said the word date. What of it."

"Actually," I corrected myself, letting a smirk slip onto my lips, "you said double-date. Double, as in... two. Two sets of dates. Two sets of—"

"Yes, congrats, we're all very proud that you finally mastered simple multiplication," Reed, aggravation oozing through his voice, half turned away. "I already regret this," I heard him mutter.

"Reed, did you and Lester..." I finally walked over to the shadowy overhang to stand next to my suddenly brooding friend. Oh, fuck yes. It's not often I got to find out about Reed being in an emotionally vulnerable situation. I was going to enjoy this.

"If you're asking if we... went to the movies two weekends back when you ditched us to go to the arcade with your boyfriend, and he insisted on buying us popcorn, and then we ended up making out before the title sequence was even over... then yes. We did." The other boy continued to look away from me. I wondered if he was blushing. I hoped he was blushing.

"Oh my god, Reed! Reed!” I tried to pull him into a hug, but he slipped out of my grip and closer to the cool rock face, glaring at my goofy smile. “I... I don't know whether to be proud of you or disappointed in Lester..."

"Hardy har har."

"Aww look at my little Reedikins. Embarrassed to talk about his first boyfriend..." I crooned, leaning even closer. I was happy for him, but that didn't mean I was going to make this easy on him. Even if I had seen this coming for weeks.

"Alright, alright, let's get it all out of our systems. It's very sweet. Yes, yes, okay," Reed finally faced me, leveling a glare in my direction with a definite redness on his cheeks—even if it was partially from the sun exposure, I'm just going to call it a blush. "Are we done now?"

"Not a fucking chance, lover boy."

"Yeah, well, laugh it up—"

"Oh shit! Is this why you've been practically human with your... almost-supportiveness and I-can't-believe-it's-not-kindness the last few weeks? Lester's Beauty-and-the-Beast-ing you!"

"Pfft, he wishes. You wish. Romantic bullshit..."

"That is so sweet!" Ignoring the continued glare, and the attempt to dodge out of my grip, I reached over and pulled Reed into a begrudging hug. Well, maybe more of a choke hold. The thought behind it is essentially the same.

"Fuck!" Reed groaned, finally pushing himself out of my grip. "This is why I didn't want to fucking tell you. You're like an overexcited puppy."

"Hey, fuck you, normal people like puppies. And fuck you for keeping this from me for two weeks! I should know if my two best friends are sneaking away to go... make out of whatever when I'm not around."

There was a moment's pause as Reed leveled a 'are you serious' look at me. Eyebrow arched, questioning disbelief in his eyes as he gently cleared throat.

"Right... so you do know if you want this to be a double-date, you're going to have to, uh... tell Lester that you and Cyrus are dating? Right?"

I froze. For just a second, the smile still stamped on my face, but the joy behind it was gone. Shit.

"Wha... I mean... Yeah. I... Of course. I mean. I just, y'know, figured you'd already told him." I was suddenly more aware of the sticky heat than I had been all day. It felt... claustrophobic.

"Nope," Reed said, voice once again confident as he reestablished his control over the conversation. "You swore me to secrecy and I upheld that promise, like the good friend I am. In fact, since L is our lovably oblivious dumbass of a friend, he... well he doesn't even have a clue that you're into guys. It'll be a complete surprise for him." There was a tone of satisfaction in his voice. An undercurrent of 'Ha, I win.'

It would have pissed me off if I was in the mental state to think about it.

"Right. Right. I knew that. I mean... yeah. I, uh... totally..." Damn, why was it so fucking hot. I felt like I was sweating my ass off. It was really freaking uncomfortable.

"Jesus, you're really freaking out. Aren't you."

"No. No, I'm not.” It was a lie. Reed knew it was a lie. I knew he knew it was a lie. But my heartbeat was reverberating in my ears and it was hard to think. “Shut up.”

"It's Lester, dude. It's a guy who I literally just told you is also dating another dude. It's—!" I watched as Reed stopped himself, and took a deep breath. That seemed like a good idea. I desperately wanted to do the same.

"Alright," he continued a few seconds later, his voice suddenly much calmer, "let's... let's talk this one out, okay?"

"Talk what out?" I felt myself shrinking back against the wall of rock behind me.

"You being fucking terrified. I mean, L's not even here right now, man. No one’s making you come out right this minute. Even you can see that this is fucking ridiculous, right?"

"You're fucking ridiculous," I muttered, not really wanting to look Reed in the eye anymore.

"I'll take that as a yes. Now—okay, seriously, asshole?" Reed looked at me with confusion as I took a half step away from him. God, what was I even doing anymore? "Okay. Okay. Fuck. What will get you to calm down enough that we can actually talk about this?"

"Since when are you a fucking therapist?" It was like someone else was making my decisions and choosing my words for me, and that someone was a petulant child. All I knew was that my whole body was on its emergency setting.

"Well, I've spent the last eight years going to one on a weekly basis, so maybe I picked up a few things. Short of your boyfriend—or his dad—I think I'm your best option, here."

My mind flashed back to my phone. The message waiting on me there from Cyrus. It was probably going to be something about his dad. Or worse. It was going to be the start of yet another fight. One I deserved. A fight about the fact that I abandoned him. Ran away and left him to fend for himself. I wonder if he had been anywhere near as scared as I felt when his dad walked in. And I had just... run.

And he hadn't

Fuck. I hated myself for doing that. For ducking my head and disappearing out the door. I had done that to Cyrus once before, hadn't I? And I'd promised him that I'd be better—that I'd never fuck up like that again. And then I just went right ahead and broke that promise.

Of course he was pissed at me. I didn't need to read that text for me to be sure of that. Anyone would be.

Fuck! I needed to fix this. I needed to fix myself.

"Fine. Fuck you."

"Thank you! Jesus. Now we can—"

"Tell me why you deleted the files, and then we can talk about my... stuff." I tried to summon a look of defiance to direct at Reed, but by the time I raised my eyes, he wasn't even looking at me anymore. His eyes were focused somewhere behind me, a determined look on his notably red face.

"What? What's going on?" I spun around, just in time to watch as the last of the riders accelerate her dirtbike to the top of the quarry's rim. A few seconds of revving motors later and the echoes died in the air. We were finally alone.

"Did you bring the recorder like I asked?" Reed's voice was much softer than it had been just a few seconds ago, like he'd already forgotten what we were talking about.

"Uh... yeah," I fished around in my pocket until I grabbed hold of the little silver square. "Right here."

"Sweet," he turned around and started digging through his bag, stopping a few seconds later to pull out a small yellow cylinder with a long green cord hanging from the top. "Let's walk and talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, it feels like it's been forever since I got to write just a banter chapter. This was fun. I should do more of these.


	8. Pretty Hard to Deny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reed and TJ have a talk. This probably should have been two chapters, so... buckle up, buttercup.

I feel like it should be a more complicated procedure, blowing something up. Maybe it is, for some people. But if there were safety laws, explanatory steps, or cautionary regulations, Reed did not feel the need to use them.

He did, however, feel the need to use five pieces of very heavy duct tape, attaching the blocky recorder to the cylinder of explosives with all the care of a child opening their presents on Christmas morning. And not a particularly patient child.

“So are we filming this one?” I fingered my phone, still resting in my pocket. As if on cue, I felt it vibrate and immediately pulled my hand away. It was from Cyrus. I knew it was. And it made my phone feel especially heavy, sitting there; like the unread messages were somehow adding to my phone's weight. If we were filming, I decided, it wouldn’t be with my phone for once. There’s no way Reed wouldn’t go snooping into my messages.

“Nah. There’s not really gonna be anything to watch explode. Remember when we blew up Lester’s old phone? That one got, like, the lowest views ever.” Reed’s voice was remarkably steady as he handled the high explosive with less care than one might give a piece of litter they’d picked up from the ground.

How the fuck have we not died while doing this?

“You mean the time you blew up his two-month-old iPhone just so you would have an excuse to buy him a newer one and act like it was a gift?” Or, to be more accurate, he convinced his mom to buy Lester the new phone—Reed’s crafty, but even he’s not ‘I have $800 saved in my desk drawer’ crafty—with a fake story so impressive that even I almost believed it.

“Yeah, that one. Turns out phones are too small for it to be an entertaining video. Who knew? Low view count, almost no likes. No one cared.”

“Uh... Lester probably cared. Just a little?” I shook my head, taking a few cautionary steps back as Reed laid the dynamite on the ground and started unrolling the fuse.

I’d never asked where Reed got his—surely illegal—explosives. I’d never asked where he’d learned to set this sort of thing up. The less I knew, the better—plausible deniability, and all that—but as a result, I always had that growing fear in the back of my head that one of us was about to lose a hand.

“He got a new phone out of it, didn’t he?” Reed asked, taking slow, methodical steps as he set down the fuse.

“That's not the... nevermind. You have the weirdest fucking courting rituals.” Reed scoffed, but didn’t try to deny it. The number of schemes he’d implemented to try to get Lester’s attention was much too large, and much too weird, for him to try to excuse it as something else. I think he imagined the whole affair was like a giant game. A game he wanted to win in the most creative, dramatic way possible.

I wonder if it pissed him off that, in the end, it had all come down to a dark movie theater, some popcorn, and—if I had to guess—Lester making the first move.

I bet it did.

“I hope Lester knows what he’s gotten himself into... I don’t think blowing his shit up is gonna fly anymore, dude.” I paused as Reed set down the end of the fuse and pulled a tiny black lighter out of his pocket.

“L’s a big boy. And he knows perfectly well who I am, thank you very much. If he thinks I’m suddenly gonna stop pranking him just because I get to put my tongue in his mouth, then we’re... shit, if that’s the case, then we're pretty much destined to go down in flames. And all I know how to do is make those flames grow bigger.” He punctuated his statement with an overly dramatic flick of the lighter, holding it's flagging light in front of his eyes with a... weird look on his face.

“That was somehow poetic, romantic, disgusting, and... absolutely moronic all at the same time. Congratulations. How the fuck do you take something as amazing as making out and boil it down to ‘putting your tongue in his mouth.’” I wrinkled my nose, looking at Reed, confused. “Fuck. Remind me to never let you kiss me.” 

“Aww, you're so sweet, Tom Janks. And don't worry, if this is some reverse psychology plan to get me to make out with you,” Reed flashed a sarcastic grin from where he knelt on the dusty ground, “then I am flattered. You’re not really my type, but I’ll make an exception for my oldest friend.”

“Reed. No.”

“I mean, all you had to do was ask.”

Pushing a lock of blond hair out of his eyes, Reed leaned over and grabbed for my waist, pursing his lips in an absolutely horrifying approximation of my eighty-five year old grandma.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” I laughed, sidestepping his weak grasping as he tried to pull me down to his level.

“C’mon, big boy,” the blond said between the moments of gross wet smacking from his lips, “don’t be shy. Fair warning, though: If my skills make you cream your pants, I’m not helping you explain the stain to your mom.”

“Goddamnit, Reed!” I shouted, unable to hold back another bout of laughter as he lunged for my knees and I jumped another step out of reach.

If you're gonna be friends with someone who's delusional, at least make sure they're funny.

“Your loss,” Reed shrugged, instantly turning back to the fuse and hefting the lighter once again.

We were only about 10 feet from the parcel of death, as he flicked on the flame and held it a few inches away from the fuse. I held my breath, preparing myself to run.

Except, Reed didn’t move.

I took another step back, giving myself a bit of a head start, but Reed still hadn’t brought the flickering flame any closer to its target.

“Y’know,” he sighed, letting the flame die out as some of the tension ran out from his shoulders, “I really liked that recorder.”

There was a beat of silence as I processed this unexpected turn.

“Okay, and..? Reed, this," I motioned at the scene in front of us, "was all your idea!” I shouted in exasperation, almost taking a step forward before stopping myself short. No way I was getting any closer to that ball of death.

“I’m gonna blow the damn thing up, calm your shit, Tustin Jimberlake.” Reed looked over his shoulder, sending me a light glare. “Jeez. Just wanna... give it the respect it’s due, y’know?”

Silence fell again as he turned back to face what was, apparently, a sentimental piece of blackmail equipment. I couldn't even guess at what was going through his head as he somberly stared at the package a few feet in front of him. So I stayed quiet.

Until the moment of silence got to the point where it was just... ridiculous.

"Why do I have a feeling you wouldn't be half this serious at my own funeral?" I asked, finally deciding that Reed was just fucking with me.

"You're probably right," Reed sighed, ending his silent vigil after way too many minutes. "But, to be fair, you haven't gotten me through as many tough times as ol' Rebecca here."

"Please tell me you didn't name the fucking recorder that you used to collect blackmail..."

"I did. Like, two seconds ago. Just seems wrong to send her off without a name."

"What the..." I shook my head. "Never mind. If it’s... Jesus, if it’s this is hard for you, why the fuck did you come up with this idea in the first place?"

"Well excuse me for wanting to do something appropriately dramatic as I enter this all-new, blackmail-free stage in my life!" I watched as my friend stood and, with an unnecessary flourish, shoved the lighter back into his pocket. A few quick steps and he was next to me, staring me down.

"Who said it needed to be so damn dramatic in the first place! If you wanted to go blackmail-free—which, by the way, is not a thing that most people have to brag about, no matter how many times you say it like it's normal—why didn't you just delete those files and tell me the next time we saw each other? What's with the video and the explosives and the... everything..!" I gestured at the recorder, at the sky, at the world around us, feeling utterly lost as to what was going on.

Even for Reed, Reed was being weird.

"How else was I gonna get you to believe me?" the other boy shrugged, suddenly entirely calm. I swear, the way his energy can change at the drop of a hat, it's like magic. I envy that more than I want to admit. I feel like, once I get started, emotional inertia makes it almost impossible for me to switch course.

"Wha... What? You... what? Since when... When have you ever cared that I believe you, Reed? You've never cared about that!" My voice was still growing louder, even if I didn't really know what I was yelling about by that point. "You've never cared what other people thought of you at all! That's like... the core of your fucking personality!"

"True," the blond shrugged, completely placid, a faint, uncaring smile starting to grow on his lips. "But this time my entire goal was to get you to believe me. So... the dramatics," he gestured to the quarry around us, to me and then himself, his smile growing even wider, "seemed appropriate."

His goal... was to get me to believe him? So, what? I was right? This had all been a trick?

"What... the fuck does that mean!"

"Would you have believed me if I just walked up to you next weekend and said, 'Oh yeah, hey, by the way, I deleted those files. We're all good!'? No! Of course not! At least, I hope not. You'd have to be an idiot to believe I would do something that big with no proof."

Okay. True.

"So?"

"So? I'm doing this for you, you dumbass! If you don't believe me, then I deleted a lifetime's worth of blackmail for absolutely nothing!" The look on his face told me that he wanted all this to be obvious, that he couldn't get why I was so confused. And yet...

"For... me?" My voice was suddenly as quiet and unsure as I felt.

"Yeah, TJ." Suddenly he was holding up his lighter—when did he get that back out?—its weak flame held out between us at length from his body. "Like I said in the fucking video. This one's for you."

And then, in a single fluid motion, he knelt down, grabbed the end of the fuse, and lit it.

My utter confusion at what the hell was going on held me in place as the hissing sound of the ignition began to make its way down the length of the fuse. If it wasn't for Reed grabbing me by the elbow as he sprinted past, I probably would still have been at ground zero when the explosion went off. Instead, we made it to a rock about a hundred feet away with just enough time for him to turn me around before a flash of light and deafening sound filled the air where the recorder used to be.

Fuck.

Thirty seconds later, most of the dust had cleared and my ears were still ringing, but at least this time I hadn't been hit by any debris. 

"Fuck, what a good send off." Reed was probably yelling, but his voice was barely louder than the ringing in my ears. "When I die, tell my family they can forget about burial or cremation or whatever laser shit they do in the future. Just stuff me full of explosives and enjoy the fucking show."

"You are... seriously deranged, you know that?" Feeling suddenly winded, I leaned against the rock and slowly slid down until I was sitting with my knees at my chest.

"Oh, you love me for it," Reed waved my words off, dismissively. 

"In more ways than one..." I added, rubbing at my eyes.

"Well, the deed is done," my friend lowered himself onto the ground next to me, resting his head on the rock as I tried to clear my head. "Happy now?"

"Happy? Reed... I—what?" I cleared my throat, just trying to organize my thoughts. I felt like I was about to restart a cycle of questions that was just going to leave me feeling more confused and frustrated than ever. So I paused, throwing my hand over Reed's mouth when he started to say something else, and I gave myself a second to figure out what my real question was.

"Why did you... okay. Without saying that it was 'for me,' why did you decide to... delete all of your stuff. And why did you video yourself—actually, nevermind, I think I get that part. Yeah. Okay. Why did you delete your files."

My best friend, sitting beside me as our ears finally stopped ringing and the last of the dust settled back to the ground from the windless sky, sighed into my fingers. Finally, after a long moment of enforced silence, he looked me in the eye and reached up to pull my hand away.

"Would you believe me if I said your little tantrum yesterday made me see the error in my ways?"

"Not a fucking chance." I didn't even have to think about that one.

"Well I guess it's good that you know me so well." Wrinkling his nose, Reed picked up a loose piece of gravel, examining it for a second before throwing it into the quarry in front of us. "No, you storming out of my room didn't suddenly spark something in my cold, dead heart. But I'm not lying when I said I did it for you."

"Yeah, see, that's where I'm not following. The whole... you doing something for someone else part." I followed suit, finding my own piece of gravel to throw, and feeling stupidly proud when it sailed farther through the air than Reed's had.

"Look, asshole," Reed turned slightly to level an annoyed glare my way. "You may be an oversensitive, whiney, freakishly tall baby—"

"Goddamn, I forgot how amazing you are at apologies, Reed." I did my best to return his glare, and a moment of silence passed with us staring at each other with annoyance in our eyes until I decided it was stupid, gave up, and rested my head back against the rock.

"As I was saying..." Reed cleared his throat, shifting back to staring up at the sky. "I may not really understand why you got so upset about those fucking things—I mean, I only showed them to you to try to give you some desperately needed help, but no, of course, Reed's the bad guy." He had lifted his hands by his face and was waving his fingers for emphasis. I resisted the urge to start glaring at him again. "Anyway. I may not agree with you, but... shit. It was a pretty simple pro vs con calculus for me. I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yourself."

"Well... yeah. I haven't. So maybe it's just cause I suck at math, but..." I threw another stone. This one only traveled half as far as the first one.

"As far as I can tell, at this moment in my life, I'm better off with you being my friend than I am with a file full of blackmail that—to be honest—I hadn't used in months, anyway."

I... I wasn't sure how to respond to that. In his own clinically-logical and messed-up way, what Reed had just said was actually very... nice. But it also, let's be honest, felt... wrong. Off. And I couldn't tell if it was something wrong with what he'd said, or if it just felt wrong because every sincere word to ever come out of Reed's mouth has always sounded fake. And so, unsure what to say next, I deflected.

"Careful, Reed. Don't want me to start thinking that you actually like me, or something."

"I do like you, Thomas Jefferson. Do you think I could possibly spend this much time around someone I didn't like without having killed them by now? Nah. You're, like, one of five people I know who wants to spend time with me without trying to, quote-unquote, 'fix' me."

"Yeah, because I know that's impossible," I smirked, rolling my eyes. I didn't want to admit it, but I was feeling a little uncomfortable with how, um... real this conversation was becoming. 

"Yeah, but you still hang out with me anyway. Maybe it's because you're your own special kind of fucked-up too. But regardless, you put up with me. In a good way. And plus, I'm pretty sure that if you're not around to referee us, Lester and I will tear each other to shreds in a couple of weeks. And not in, like, a sexy way."

"So, what. Now that you're dating, your morality is centered on you and Lester staying together? And I'm necessary to that?"

"Will you stop trying to find a romantic explanation for all this shit, man? Look, if you're gonna insist on boiling it down, my 'morality,’ as you call it, always has and always will be 'centered' on whatever makes me happiest. And at the moment, what makes me happy includes but is not limited to: blowing shit up, because it's awesome. Hanging out with you, because we do fun shit together. And making out with Lester, because—despite how objectively disgusting I should find it—it makes me feel... tingly. And I want all those things to continue happening. So sue me."

I sat there, honestly... stunned.

"I, uh..."

"Please don't try to say anything. We both know you’re not eloquent enough to say anything worthwhile, and honestly, I'd prefer you forgot everything I just said within the week."

"Uh... yeah. Right—"

"And for the love of all that is holy, do not tell Lester any of... that." 

"Yeah, no shit."

I found myself suddenly faced with the possibility that I had spent the last eight years with a fundamentally incorrect idea of who Reed was. And it sort of... blew my mind. I mean, let's not get ahead of ourselves here. He's clearly still not, y'know, normal. But there were people—and I was one of them?—that Reed felt like... an actual connection to? Is that what... 

I honestly always figured he just kept us around to keep himself from getting bored.

"Hey, Reed?"

"Yeah?"

"That day, when you, y'know, made me come out to you. Why didn't you tell me then that you were gay? Cause, like, I don't know for sure that it would have made that whole process easier, but, I mean... Yeah. It definitely would have made that whole process a hell of a lot easier."

"Didn't wanna make you share your special day," Reed shrugged, staring at the sky while sitting beside me. 

One day, if we ever had another one of these heart-to-heart things, I would have to ask him why the first answer he gives is always an obvious lie.

"Try again," I murmured, swiveling my eyes to stare straight ahead just like my friend. The sky was still essentially cloudless, and the sun was still essentially broiling us alive.

Reed sighed, an incredibly unnecessarily dramatic sigh, before throwing another piece of gravel as hard as he could.

"I didn't want you to think I was coming on to you."

"Wait—what? Seriously?"

"Yeah. I mean, no offense, man, but I didn't want to get your hopes up. Like, first of all, we look way too similar—tall, blonde, lanky white boys—and I already have people saying I'm narcissistic, so... no, thank you. Plus, like I said before, you are not my type Theodore Joosevelt. I clearly have a marked preference for brunets, and I doubt you'd be willing to dye your hair for me."

"Goddamnit, Reed." I rolled my eyes, wincing when I accidentally knocked my head against the rock. 

"Look, I didn't want you getting stuck on some romantic fantasy that, just because we're two friends with mutually compatible sexualities, we were destined to bone. I know how your brain’s been twisted by movies and meet-cutes and shit." Reed lightly shoved me to the side, a soft grin on his face. "No fuckin way. Safest thing I could do to guarantee you didn't start looking at me with heart eyes was to wait 'til you found someone else to be infatuated with. Good thing Muffin Man came along so quick, or this balancing act would have gotten real tricky real fast."

"Pfft. You've kept more complicated secrets for way longer," I waved him away after pushing myself back into my previous spot.

"Yeah, but L wants to like... be public? Shit, can you imagine how pissed you would have been if you thought I was straight all this time and then one day I was like, 'oh yeah, by the way, I'm a big homo and also I'm dating your other best friend?'” Reed let out a barking laugh. “Aw man, now I regret missing the opportunity to see you react to that. Your face would have been... amazing."

"Wait, you and Lester are gonna just... tell people?" I asked, suppressing the shiver that ran through my spine at the thought.

"Yeah. Well. Something like that. And, by the way, he doesn't know I'm telling you any of this, so when he does the real deal, you've gotta act surprised."

"You're not... scared?" I tried to keep the nerves out of my voice, but I don't think I was particularly successful.

"I've never been scared," Reed shrugged. "And honestly, I think the only person L is really worried about—obviously besides his parents and siblings, cause, y'know, they still do the whole Church thing—is you."

"Fuck... I don't know how you can be so fucking calm about it, man. I feel like every day I'm just getting more freaked out about just the... the thought of telling other people. I'm terrified—"

"Yes, I know."

"—and I don't even want to be. I think it's fucking stupid, I feel like I'm going crazy over here! How the hell can you guys say you're want to do it like it's... like it's nothing!" My question was directed at Reed—and I guess, technically, Lester—but I imagined myself asking it to Cyrus instead. How could this boy—my boy—who was too scared to sled down the hill next to the town hall with me, act like coming out was nothing to worry about. And Reed I could understand, but Lester? Lester barely speaks when he's around someone other than me, Reed, or his family. But he's ready to tell the world?

"I mean... it's not nothing." Reed turned his head slightly, not enough to look me in the eyes, but it felt like he was still closing the distance between the two of us. "But we're gonna do it anyway."

"So you, and Lester, and... fuck. Probably Cyrus—he's too stubborn to hold off for too long. You're all gonna tell the world and I'm just gonna be what, freaking out over... something? Nothing? I don't even have as much of an excuse as Lester to not want to tell my parents! My parents are pretty much atheists! And... shit. Fuck! Am I scared to tell other kids at school? Why the hell am I scared to do that! If someone tried something I could just beat their ass—"

"No." Reed interrupted, tone calm and full of confidence. "You couldn't."

I paused, looking up from the fist I had started to form around a small piece of gravel.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Now...” Reed sighed, and then immediately cleared his throat, “we get to the meat of the issue.”

“Reed—“

“You think you could do it—beat someone up for acting out. You want to be that person. But you’re not. You never have been.” At that, Reed pushed himself up from the ground, but didn’t make a move to walk anywhere else.

I kept my mouth shut, eyes glaring forward.

“Unless,” he continued once he was leaning against the rock, “you took out some kid without ever telling me. No?” He paused, giving me a chance to argue with him. But he was right, and it pissed me off. No matter how many times I had intimidated my way into something I wanted, I had never thrown a punch. “I didn't think so. It's cool man, no need to be ashamed. Besides. I don’t think our little Muffin Man would be dating you if he thought you were the kind of guy who would actually deck a kid for looking at you wrong. He’s like... an uber-pacifist. He’d totally freak if you ever actually got in a fight.”

"What's your point, Reed," I growled, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice. Why the hell did he feel the need to tell me that? First, he tells me I'm a coward, then he tries to tell me I'm not tough? What's next, is he going to tell me that I'm not actually good at basketball?

Maybe it was time to think about throwing that first punch.

The other boy took a second to breathe. I could tell he was looking down at me, evaluating me, judging me... and I knew he wanted to say more. And I didn't want him to. I didn't want him to tell me anything more about what he thought about me.

"Look—"

"No, you look, Reed. I know what you think you're doing. You think you're some super fucking observant genius Sherlock Holmes asshole. Don't you?"

"That's not how I would describe it," he looked surprised, a bit taken aback, but it didn't look like he was going to stop talking. "But—"

"Well, you're not. And shit, even if you were... maybe I just don't want to fucking hear it. Okay? Ever think about that?" I was on my feet before I even knew what I was doing. I could feel my adrenaline surging, making it hard to think clearly, making it hard to think about anything but Reed. Reed with his stupid over-confidence and his asshole judgments and his annoying smile. 

"Well, maybe you need to swallow your fucking pride and do it anyway!" I was surprised by the anger, the frustration etched into Reed's face. He rarely showed any emotions outside of annoyance, humor, and boredom. I won't deny I enjoyed the times I could get a rise out of him.

"Fuck you!"

"No, fuck you, TJ! You always fucking do this. Whenever anyone tries to help you, you freak out on them! Every time!" Fuck that was laughable. I couldn't keep myself from rolling my eyes.

"Oh shut—"

"No, you shut up! Wait, no—here. You're right, let me rephrase that for you. Anyone not named Cyrus-fucking-Goodman who tries to help you, that's who you freak out on, isn't it." Reed was leaning forward, frustration brimming in his voice. "Even if they're your oldest fucking friend, right? I may not be the sweetest fucking messenger in the world, but fuck you if you think I actually give enough of a shit to keep trying to help if this is how you're going to react every time."

"Oh, of course! You're trying to help! How could I have forgotten about your rich and varied history when it comes to helping others! A true role model of charity and friendship, that's how everyone describes you. Just trying to fucking help! Fuck you!"

"That's what you don't fucking get, TJ. It doesn't matter to me if you get the help you need. We can keep doing our bullshit whether you learn to grow as a fucking person or not. But hey, just a heads up, as your friend," the emphasis he placed on 'friend' was filled with anger and frustration, "not everyone is like me. How long until you start pushing people away—again! Like you used to for your entire fucking life before last year—because they're tired of you not fixing your shit?"

"Oh, fuck you." I growled, resisting the urge to grab him by the hair flopping in his face, balling my hands up next to my side instead.

"How long until you push Cyrus away? Huh? Right? Or wait, that's already started, hasn't it?" 

That made me hesitate.

"You haven't touched your phone in more than two hours," Reed continued. "You only have that level of self-control if you're seriously avoiding something. And it doesn't take a—what was it?—a super observant, Sherlock-fucking-Holmes asshole to be able to guess what it is. Who it is."

I could literally feel the energy draining out of me as I tried desperately to hold on to my intimidating glare.

"I don't care if you're fighting with Cyrus, or just trying to avoid a conversation that you, I'm guessing, really need to have. It doesn't really matter to me what it is. But if you've finally reached the point where you won't even let sent-from-heaven, literally-perfect—your words, not mine—Cyrus Goodman help you? Then I already know how this is gonna end. And so do you. And that's what I don't want to deal with. I don't want to deal with fucking post-break-up depressed, angry TJ. Who shits on everything. Post-Cyrus TJ, who reverts back to the asshole he used to be. Because honestly? Now that I can look back on it? That TJ? Can suck my left nut."

"So what," I muttered, looking at the ground. "I have to listen to you if I don't want Cyrus to break up with me? Is that what you're saying?"

"No," Reed sighed, stepping back to lean against the rock again. "I mean, yeah. Listening to me is always a good idea. But nah. What I'm saying is... you have to learn to face the scary shit inside yourself, and face the people who want to help you do that, without running away and throwing a tantrum and telling us to go fuck ourselves. I mean, I assume you've never said that to Cyrus, but, I mean... at this rate, one day you might."

Without really meaning to, I lowered myself to the ground again until I was sitting up against the rock, enjoying the small respite from the sun it now offered. It wasn't a lot of shade but it was enough to make me feel like my brain was no longer baking inside my skull, and I was grateful for it.

"The scary stuff inside myself? What are you, some sort of emo poet?" It was a weak attempt to deflect with a little bit of humor. But Reed knew he'd worn me down.

"You're bisexual. You have dyscalculia. You're your dad's least favorite kid. And you should probably be going to therapy for... something. Haven't figured that one out yet."

"Oh. Thanks," I winced. "Anything else you wanna throw on that... shit pile?"

"Nah, that's probably enough to start with," Reed shrugged, a slight smile on his face. With a huff, he pushed himself up so that he was sitting on top of the rock, his feet kicking at the stone next to my waist. "Now, you can at least admit to yourself, and to some others, that all those things are true."

"Yeah. I guess. Pretty hard to deny."

"How much does it annoy you that I know all those things about you." Listening to Reed, it was like the heated exchange of two minutes ago had never happened. He sounded completely unbothered.

God, I wish that was me.

"If you knew how much it annoyed me, you wouldn't feel safe sitting that close to me," I grumbled.

"Why? They're just facts." Reed kicked at the rock again, and I resisted the temptation to grab his feet and hold them still. Mostly because I didn't want to think about touching his feet. "Maybe one day the facts will change, but for now you're a... a sad bisexual who can't do math."

"Very funny, Reed."

"Why does it annoy you that I know that? I'm your best friend, of course I know these things. You know that same set of information about me, and it would never even cross my mind for that to bother me." As Reed was talking, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. There were more than a hundred people in my contact list who could have sent me that message, but my brain could only think about one.

Cyrus.

"Of course, we should use you as the pinnacle of mental stability," I muttered, distracted as I waited to see if any other messages were about to come through. I tried to prepare myself for an avalanche. A cascade of 'you should be ashamed,' 'you abandoned me,' 'I hate you,' 'we're done.'

"You didn't answer my question," the other boy insisted, breaking through my distracted mind. "Why does it annoy you that I know those things."

"I don't know, Reed. Maybe I just don't want you to know anything about me."

"But that's not how friendships work. Not how relationships work. Definitely not something your boyfriend is gonna be willing to put up with. Even I know that. So, let's try again. Why don't you want your best friend to know anything about you?" Reed leaned forward, looking down at me from the top of the boulder. The sun was shining behind his head, lighting his hair from behind like a golden halo. Of a fallen angel.

"I don't fucking know, Reed. Maybe I'm just a private person!" My voice started getting louder than I wanted it to. Again. Fuck. I heard it as I was starting to yell, and immediately shut myself up to try to... to breath the frustration out of me.

"That doesn't explain the fear, though. How scared you get when you think about sharing some part of who you are with someone else. If you were private, you'd get nervous, maybe. Put up walls, yeah. But you... you get scared." I could feel Reed staring at me again. I could feel it as I tried to keep my heart rate steady, tried to focus on my breathing.

"What do you want me to say?"

"The truth would be nice." Oh, that's rich, coming from him. 

"I have no idea what you're looking for here, Reed. For all I know, there's nothing to find. I'm just a shitty person, and..." I could feel my blood starting to boil again. Fuck. Abort! Abort!

"I don't think that's it. Tell me, TJ. Why don't you want anyone to know who you are?" 

Know who I am? God the bullshit spilling out of his mouth made me want to puke. Tell people? Why would I do that? So that everyone could find their own reason to hate me? So everyone could—

"Why do you—"

"Because who I am sucks! Okay?" The words were out of my throat, propelled by my growing anger and frustration before I had a chance to stop myself. "I don't want anyone to fucking know who I am because I don't want to be who I fucking am!"

I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to fucking cry.

"There, are you fucking happy, Reed? I suck! You solved the mystery! I don't get to be straight, I don't get to be good at school, I don't get to make my parents happy? Fine. Whatever. I'm not a... a tough guy? I'm a coward? Fuck yeah! Hooray for TJ! I was a bully, I'm an asshole, I care too much what people think, I drive away the people who want to help me... Sounds great! You're right! Why the hell wouldn't I want to share any of that with anyone? Huh? Why wouldn't I want them to see how horrible I am? To find out what they can hate me for, too?"

Fuck.

I was fucking crying.

"So, you don't want anyone to know who you are..." Reed's voice was an annoyingly calm, a confident island in a stormy sea of anger and sadness and frustration, and I latched onto it as strongly as I could.

"Yeah," I turned, finally meeting his eyes, trying to blink away the stupid fucking tears falling from my own. "Because I hate who I am."

"Alright," he said, jumping from his position on the top of the rock and quicking lowering himself to the ground in front of me. "Now we're getting somewhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had most of this talk written like three chapters ago, and everything since then has just been setting things up for it.
> 
> Edit: this ended up being so much longer than I planned... sorry. Don’t be mad at me. The characters wouldn’t let me do it any faster.


	9. Mantra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TJ makes up his mind after speaking to Reed. Sort of.

My name is TJ Kippen, I'm bisexual, I have dyscalculia, I'm a middle child, and the first one my parents would be willing to sacrifice. I've been a bully, an idiot, and a coward, and...

The street lights were already coming on by the time Reed and I went our separate ways. He'd looked extremely proud of himself as he bid farewell, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he lazily turned his bike towards his gated community and told me not to do anything he wouldn't do. I don't know if he knew what I was planning as he disappeared into the twilight, but, knowing Reed, he probably had an idea.

I got the distinct feeling that somehow—even though it was impossible—everything that had happened to me in the past thirty-six hours had gone exactly as Reed had planned it. Which is crazy, because, as much of an evil mastermind as Reed is, even he isn't omniscient. Still, as I turned my bike in the direction of Cyrus's dad's house, I could picture Reed's stupid smirk as I once again did exactly as he predicted.

My name is TJ Kippen, I'm bisexual, I have dyscalculia, I'm a middle child, and the first one my parents would be willing to sacrifice. I've been a bully, an idiot, and...

It kept replaying in my mind, the entire conversation between the two of us in that quarry. Reed's annoying nonchalance the perfect contrast against the roil of emotion flowing through my head. It became like a mantra, repeating itself as I pedaled my bike whether I wanted it to or not.

_"So you hate yourself," Reed shrugged, as if he what he'd said carried no weight. "Congratulations, man. You and, like... thirty percent of this country."_

_"Oh, great. So, what? You get me to admit I'm fucked up just so you can point out that I'm nothing special?" I rubbed away the wetness from my eyes, doing my best to hold a glare focused on my friend. "_

_"Nah, I've just always heard that when someone's going through a tough time, you're supposed to make them feel like they're not alone. But I'm fucking amazing, so I have no idea what you're going through." Reed's smile was slick, and my urge to throw a rock at his head was powerful._

_"Of course. Thanks for the reality check," I rolled my eyes, sniffing away the last of my runny nose._

_"That's what friends are for."_

_"You're the fucking best."_

_"But seriously, so you hate yourself. Big whoop. I don't see why you make such a big deal about it." Reed started digging through his bag again, eventually retrieving two oranges, one of which he tossed to me. "Millions of people hate themselves every day without fuckin... freaking out on their friends, or whatever."_

_"How the hell am I making a big deal about it? I just admitted it to myself the first time two fucking minutes ago!"_

_"Yeah, but it's obviously been true for, like... pretty much ever. Right?"  
_

My name is TJ Kippen, I'm bisexual, I have dyscalculia, I'm a middle child, and the first one my parents would be willing to sacrifice. I've been a bully...

The heat of the day carried itself over into dusk as well, even as a bank of clouds finally made its way over Shadyside while the sun set behind us. It wasn't a long ride from the quarry to Cyrus's, in fact, at top speed I could probably have gotten there before you would technically call it 'dark.' But I didn't feel like hurrying. My brain was too heavy with mantras and thoughts and Reed's fucked up psychoanalyses for me to do anything faster than a leisurely cruise. It was nice, really—or at least it would have been if I could have focused on the world around me at all.

It was honestly a miracle that I didn't get hit by a car.

The only thing that was really able to snap me out of my thoughts was when I passed by the park, and thought for a second that...

But no. While I was able to see someone on the swingset—our swingset—it was a girl. Or, at least, it definitely wasn't Cyrus. The person had longer hair, blonde and straight, and while they looked young, they weren't anyone I recognized from afar. For a second I considered riding over and telling her to find somewhere else to brood, but in the end I decided there was no need to be so territorial. There were plenty of swings to share.

My name is TJ Kippen, I'm bisexual, I have dyscalculia, I'm a middle child, and the first one my parents would be willing to sacrifice.

_"So you have all these things you hate about yourself, right?" Reed tossed his empty orange peel over his shoulder, not even noticing as it landed on, and made a perfect hat for, a small round rock behind him._

_"Yeah..."_

_"Your family, your name, your learning disability, your sexuality—"_

_"I don't hate being bi!"_

_"Mmmm... are you sure? You sort of act like you do." Reed's smile was back to being cocky, and it was so incredibly annoying._

_"Yeah, I'm sure. Asshole." Being bi meant that Cyrus was a part of my life. There was no way I could hate something that gave me that. "I'm not, like, homophobic against my self or something."_

_"I mean, you can dislike being bi without thinking you're like... disgusting, or a crime against god or something."_

_"The only crime against god around here is you," I muttered, finishing off my orange._

_"I'm just saying, there's gays out there who hate on drag queens and want to pretend they’re straight. Not because of some religious or political shit. Just because it's easier," Reed shrugged. "Internalized homophobia or something, I read up on it after you stormed out yesterday."_

_"Well, fine. But that's not what I... have. I'm not ready to wear a fucking rainbow wristband, but... y'know. I don't hate it."_

_"Fine. Whatever you say, boss. Maybe you're just worried that it'll make other people hate you,” Reed sighed. “That’d explain why it stops being an issue once someone knows and doesn’t freak out."_

_I didn't want to admit it, but... that felt right. In my gut. I felt it every time someone found out—that fear of immediate rejection._

_"Okay, what's your point." I muttered, not meeting Reed's eyes._

_"My point is... you have these things you hate about yourself, so you hide them. And you do a damn good job of it too. Like, if I ever need to become delusional about something, I know who to learn from. You hide them so deep, you think no one out there is ever gonna find out the truth. And then, when someone does—when someone threatens to actually find out who the true-you is—you freak. Hard.”_

My name is TJ Kippen, I'm bisexual, I have dyscalculia, I'm a middle child...

The last mile or so to Cyrus's house was quiet. I don't think I passed a single car on the back streets leading to the comfortable two-story Victorian house. It was dark green, with white trim, and no, I'm not stalling. Just... appreciating. And maybe also stalling.

I still didn't know what I was going to say to Cyrus when he opened the door. If he opened the door. I still hadn't been brave enough to look at the unread messages on my phone. I didn't know if he would even want to see me, much less listen to what I had to say. 

Since we got together, I had seen Cyrus angry at me a handful of time. It was usually a small anger—compared to the rage he'd shown the night of our first sleepover pretty much every other instance had been nothing—and split pretty evenly between things that were my fault and things that weren't. Maybe trending a bit towards things that were my fault. I don't know.

What I'm trying to say is that I know how to handle Cyrus being angry at me.

I wasn't worried that Cyrus would be angry at me.

I was worried he would be disappointed in me. I was worried that I had finally, once and for all, proven that I didn't deserve him. That I was always going to disappoint him. And most of all, I was worried that that was true. That even if Cyrus didn't realize it, that my own way of dealing with the world was just... incompatible with how amazing he was.

My name is TJ Kippen, I'm bisexual, I have dyscalculia...

_"So, what? I'm just supposed to change everything about myself? Start just... loving who I am. Sounds fake."_

_"Sounds like the best piece of advice I've ever heard you give to yourself," Reed slapped my shoulder, blinding grin gracing his face. "Congratulations, you've solved the mystery."_

_"Oh yeah, I'll get right on it. Let me just, uh... go fuckin pick up some self-love at the fucking grocery store. Do you think they sell that in bulk?" The sky was starting to grow orange, a beautiful end to a day that had been altogether too hot. I cursed silently as I rubbed at the back of my neck. Reed wasn't going to be the only one with a horrible sunburn._

_"I've got a stash of anti-depressants if you want to try those."_

_"That sounds like a horrible idea."_

_"I offer solutions, and you reject them. I dunno what you want from me, Kippen." With a noticeable wince, Reed hefted his bag onto his shoulder._

_"Look, I just mean... How am I supposed to love myself for having a learning disability, right? For having a fucked up brain? Cause I'm not fucking asking my dad to put me in therapy, okay. He'll just take that as proof that I'm just as fucked up as he's always thought I was." The treck to the edge of the quarry, to our bikes wasn't long. But after the intensity of the day, even a few minutes of walking seemed like torture._

_"You are fucked up, bro."_

_"Fuck you, too." I shook my head, looking up at the raised rim of the quarry._

_"You hate these things about yourself, and so you hide them from people. I dunno what's supposed to come first, though. You not hating yourself, or you being open with people. I feel like it's a, uh... chicken and the egg sort of thing." I winced as Reed's hand came down unnecessarily hard on my shoulder sending a shot of pain up my neck. I really needed to start taking my boyfriend's advice about sunscreen._

_"Oh yeah, that sounds realistic. Just tell the world and that'll fix things. It's like magic, right? My friends are my power." I shook my head, dropping out of the overly sappy video game protagonist voice as I looked over my shoulder at my friend._

_"Yeah, you're right. Sounds like bullshit. I dunno man." Reed shrugged and then started trekking up the slope towards our bikes._

_"So what do I do now?"_

_"I'm not a psychic, Trevor Joah." Reed said over his shoulder as he took big, ungainly strides up the loose gravel to the ridge of the quarry. "I don't know. Shit. Like... have you ever been able to talk about any of this shit without it making you feel sad?"_

_"Yeah," I leaned over, using my hands to help me up the steep slope. "With Cyrus."_

_"Makes sense."_

_"So..."_

_"Cyrus helps you deal with it," Reed reached the top of the hill, turning around to offer me a hand. "Seems like a good place to start to me."_

My name is TJ Kippen, I'm bisexual...

There was something going on at Cyrus's house. The lights were all on, and I could see a bunch of shadows moving behind the drapes of the dining room window. I tried to recall if my boyfriend had mentioned anything about a family dinner, or a party, but nothing came to mind.

My brain told me to turn around. It was clearly a bad time. And chances were someone other than Cyrus would open the door when I knocked. And that's assuming Cyrus wasn't staying the night somewhere. What if he had gone to stay the night with Andi or Buffy? What if it was a 'my boyfriend's an asshole and I need to binge on ice cream and sappy movies' sleepover? That's something Andi's mom would probably allow.

It was a waste of time. I needed to turn around, and just wait until Monday like a normal person, and I needed to not interrupt—

I don't think I even realized I was ringing the doorbell until I heard the tone go off behind the door.

There was a shuffle, a murmur of voices from sources I couldn't see as they probably wondered who would be rude enough to interrupt a Sunday night dinner party. I could feel the tightness rising in my throat, taking hold my heart and chest as my breath started to feel colder in my lungs. There was still a chance to turn around. Ding-dong ditch. No one would be the wiser.

Except that wasn't true at all. Cyrus's dad had one of those doorbell-security cameras. All they had to do was check their phones to know exactly who had given in to their anxiety and fled from their doorstep.

I was not going to be a coward.

It felt like an eon passed between when the doorbell tone died out and I finally heard the deadbolt unlock. As someone who had spent the last four months more or less walking into Mr. Goodman's house whenever I wanted, the silence felt even more unusual. But after sweating my ass off in fear for what felt like a century of waiting, the door finally swung open.

"TJ?" Cyrus's voice was small. Filled with worry as the door slowly swung open between us. I could see conflict behind his eyes, and I was worried what that internal argument might have been about. He looked so amazing, dressed in a neatly pressed maroon button-down and slacks that were a perfect fit. He looked so mature. Like he was somehow the host of whatever party was going on behind him. Compared to the sweat-stained t-shirt and basketball shorts I was wearing, it really seemed like we were from different worlds.

The silence dragged on for longer than I realized, but I couldn't keep myself from studying his face, taking in the worry as he chewed at his lip.

"Are you okay?" He didn't sound angry. Or disappointed. He just sounded...

My name is...

"Theodore Jacoby."

Of all the things I could have said in that moment, I don't think my boyfriend was expecting that. I don't think I was expecting it either.

"Um... I, uh..."

"Theodore Jacoby Kippen. That's my full name." My throat felt thick as I tried to swallow down the sick feeling in my stomach. There wasn't a single soul outside my family who knew that. Except, now there was one.

"I—Why... I mean, um." Cyrus dropped his hand from the doorknob, letting it swing freely behind him as he stood there, dumbstruck. 

"Jacoby was my mom's favorite uncle, and I guess my dad just always liked the name, Theodore. But I hate my full name," I continued, hoping he would forgive me for interrupting him. "I think it sounds pretentious, and it sounds like the name of someone who drinks tea, and gets straight A's, and always does everything his parents tell him to. And it's just... it's not me."

"TJ... Why are you telling me this," Cyrus stepped forward, finally, and reached out to grab my hand. It felt so incredible, feeling his skin against mine, having him twist his fingers between mine, having him be mine. I could feel the words in my throat getting thicker as he stared at me, eyes wide and... accepting.

No snide marks about how stupid my name is.

"Because I hate my name. I hate... I hate a lot of things about myself, but my full name was the only one you didn't already know. And you deserve to know. You deserve to know everything about me." I nodded as I spoke, trying to assure myself as much as Cyrus that I was making the right choice.

"TJ, I... Thank you." I felt him squeeze my hand, and I wanted nothing more at that moment than to pull him into the tightest hug he'd ever felt and pepper his face with kisses. But his family was too close, and I... I wasn't ready for that. But I knew he understood—at least had an idea—how important this was to me. And that was enough.

"I mean it, okay. And I just... this may not seem connected, and it's a long story, but, um. This is me saying that I want to come out with you. I do. Just... not right now. Just give me some time, okay?"

"Yeah, of course. TJ, I..." I could tell there was something he wanted to say, something he was holding himself back from saying. But that was okay.

We'd get there.

"Looks like you have a party to get back to," I nodded at the dining room behind him. I could just make out the back of Mr. Goodman's head, tilting back in raucous laughter. "I uh... I need to get home anyway. My dad will kill me if I'm out late again."

"Are you sure? I'm sure my dad wouldn't mind if you spent the night," Cyrus's grip on my hand tightened.

I so wanted to take him up on that offer.

"No, I... I really gotta go home." Without waiting to think anything through, I quickly leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, enjoying the slight blush that grew there as I pulled back.

Cyrus's dad might have seen that. And that freaked me out, but...

Yeah.

"Wait, TJ." Cyrus's voice stopped me as I turned around to leave. There he was, leaning against the doorframe, a gentle, goofy smile on his face. And there he was, staring straight at me.

"Yeah?"

"Does this mean I get to call you Theo?"

And, you know? It didn't sound so horrible when it was coming from his lips like that.

"Maybe as an anniversary present," I couldn't help the smile growing as I turned around again, not wanting him to see how happy he was making me. "And only if you promise never to tell Reed."

"You're secret's safe with me, Theodore Jacoby Kippen. My lips are sealed."

Holy shit.

I think I love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not planning on writing this chapter today. And then I did. Mostly because of the recent story by TheObligateKlutz where TJ's name is Theo, and it just seemed so absolutely perfect that I just... I had to write this chapter. I hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr: tyrusmwm
> 
> This sequel is going to be an experiment, peeps. I've never written a sequel before. But I'd also never finished a multi-chapter story before PSM, so I think we can do this. But I'll need your support, your kudos, your comments, your bookmarks, and—of course—your undying love.


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